You and Me
by Matilda384
Summary: Roger has grown up and is now responsible for caring for his son - his son that has autism. Feeling alone, scared, and alienated, he needs help finding assistance for both him and his little Jonah. They only have each other.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know what made me think of this idea. But we'll see how it goes. I just want to say right now that I respect anyone that has autism/ASD, and _the views displayed in this story are not personally my own. They are the characters'._ I know that I create them, and that I give them that liberty, but the negative responses are only placed in this story as contrast and plot. I do not mean to offend anyone at all. Just please understand that it does not reflect my view on the situations, themes, or subjects. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think.**

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Roger watched his wife Samantha as she rocked their newborn baby in her arms. "He's everything," he whispered to her, earning a nod of agreement. The new parents looked at each other. "Thank you," Roger breathed. Samantha cocked her head, her voice still hoarse from screaming through labor. "For giving me a child. I know you were still on the fence about it, but you listened to me, and that means a lot." he continued. Her warm smile told him that she loved him to the moon and back. Roger snuggled close to his wife and child, closing his eyes happily and enjoying everything he had before him currently—his own renewed mental health, his financial status, his family, his friends.

And then a sudden thought made him snap his eyes open immediately: did he really deserve it?

**X x X**

It was a devastating doctor's visit. Roger and Samantha had become very concerned about their baby after his second birthday when he began walking less and less. Instead, he was resorting back to _crawling_ on the floor like he had at six months old. He hadn't spoken any words yet. They were worried that perhaps he was degenerating due to a disease or some sort of weakness in his body—the parents didn't want their perfect little boy plagued by anything that might later cause him pain. The appointment was scheduled to start at nine-thirty in the morning.

They weren't released until three in the afternoon.

After hearing the parents' complaints and concerns, the doctor took him into deep examination. He watched the child play, watched him eat (or rather, refuse to eat), watched him cry, watched him react when taken away from his mother. The diagnosis was troubling. "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell," the doctor began slowly. He turned his gaze down onto the floor, where little Jonah Campbel was busy stacking colored blocks into one perfect single line. "I regret to inform you that your son has autism." Roger gasped. Samantha let the tears fall immediately as she clung to her husband's arm for support. "It honestly fits the activities he partakes in that you described. I saw it for myself." the man went on sadly. "He doesn't eat, he screams when separated from the people he's attached to, he consistently rocks himself side to side, he doesn't create any imaginative play, he doesn't babble…and then of course…there's the telltale sign…." he once again looked down at Jonah's perfect line of blocks. Samantha sobbed. Roger refused to let any tears fall yet—he had to be the strong one of the family. "How can we help him? How can we fix it?" he urged the man. But he received a shake of the head. "There's simply no cure for this disorder. I do know of a colleague that is conducting neurological studies over at the hospital, and I'm sure he'd love to give Jonah his best efforts. He'll teach you how to work with him. And not to mention, he will be able to conduct research to benefit children born with this years from now." the doctor tried. Samantha sobbed loudly, "I don't care about the children years from now! I want my baby to be normal!"

That broke Roger's walls. If even his wife saw how bleak everything looked, things weren't going to get better. No response could be given to the grieving mother. The trio sat in that small room in silence for a long while, all tearful eyes upon Jonah who didn't have a single clue that all these people were crying over him.

**X x X**

Just a few months later, Roger and Samantha were sleeping soundly in their bed together late one evening. It was quiet in the house, very peaceful. Night was one of Roger's favorite times because of how still everything was—there were no doctor's appointments, no paperwork, no arguing; all of that seemed to be put on hold. And it was a nice break. Roger allowed for every nerve his in skin to take in what it was feeling at the moment. He sighed at the softness of the sheets. Samantha's breathing was slow and steady. They rested back-to-back, sharing the comforter, which Roger loved. He was so close to drifting off, letting his body slip into that second stage of peace, when suddenly, the nightly tantrum started.

Usually, the parents took turns for who was going to get up with the baby. It wasn't Roger's turn that night, but he whispered to Samantha that he would go if she wanted to rest. Without a word in response, she slid out of bed and hurried out of the room. Roger hugged his pillow as he listened to the crying. No, not crying. _Screaming_. How could such a tiny little child make such a huge noise? It was a pattern—Jonah would always awaken at this time of the evening because it had been too long of separation from his mother. He couldn't help it. It was the autism. Every time that word crossed through Roger's mind, he cringed. His perfect son was already so damaged. Could he ever be fixed?

It was taking quite a while to settle Jonah back down again. Roger heard Samantha trying to sing a lullaby to him, but all the baby did was shriek. Several minutes ticked by. Suddenly, the bedroom door opened again and Samantha entered, but Jonah was nowhere in sight. In fact, he was still screaming back in his nursery as if nobody had even gone in to help in the first place. Roger sat up when Samantha turned a bright light on. "Is everything alright?" he asked, rubbing his eyes against the harshness. Something heavy and hard slammed on the mattress. Roger squinted. A suitcase. His jaw fell as he saw Samantha angrily throwing her clothes and belongings inside haphazardly, as if she had one goal to reach that had no prize for neatness—to get out as fast as she could. Roger grabbed her wrist nervously. "W-What are you—"

"Let go of me!" she shouted. Roger didn't know what to do. No one had yelled at him like that since his time in the asylum…after the island…. "Samantha, what are you doing? Samantha, talk to me! Explain what's going—"

"I'll tell you what's going on. I can't do this anymore. I can't…I can't listen to him scream all day and all night and know that there's nothing I can do to help him! I can't go sit in another hospital room and wait to hear that my child is never going to be what I expected! I can't watch him line up his god forsaken rubber ducks in perfect rows, then knock them down, then rebuild them over and over and over again for _hours at a time!_ It's driving me crazy! I can't do it! _I can't do it!_"

She flung her suitcase off the bed as she swung a coat around her pajamas. Roger leapt from the covers. "Samantha!" he cried, blocking the door. "Stop this! You're just overtired! Just…just let me go see what he wants! I'll call out of work tomorrow so I can take him to the doctor, I'll even go on extended leave if that's what you'd like! I'll help you, just let me help you do this!" he shouted, feeling tears start to burn when she kept shaking her head and pushing past him. "Let me go!" she shouted. Roger tried to grab her but she ran to the front door. "Samantha, please don't—"

"I'm not coming back, Roger! I-I…I want a divorce!"

Nothing hit him harder. How could she say that? Had their relationship really suffered that much? "Samantha…you're tired. You don't know what you're saying. Just…just come here, let me hold you—"

"I already told you, I'm not coming back! I've been…I've been thinking about this for a very long time, Roger."

"…H-How long…?"

"Since Jonah was six months old. Before we even knew he had…this. Roger, I didn't want a baby. I didn't want one and you kept saying that all you thought of when you were a kid and sitting alone in that asylum was how you wished you had family that would come rescue you. I…I felt bad for you! So I gave in. And look at what I got! This isn't a common condition! This isn't easy! Maybe if I hadn't married someone with a medical history of insanity…then maybe the baby would've been _normal!_"

Roger was floored. Everything she'd just said…it hurt him worse than spears. "Me?" he whispered in disbelief. "This is because of me?"

"Yes! The doctor said it's a neurological disorder, and mental disorder; that's what you had! You…you passed it on. And I didn't even want this child to begin with…. Roger, I want a divorce. I'm done with this. I don't love you, and I can't spend another day with…with…_him!_" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. Roger was at a complete loss for words. Nothing was going to change her mind about this. Nothing.

Samantha heaved a big tearful sigh, grabbed her suitcase, and stepped out the front door. "I'm going to my parents' house. Tell the lawyer to bring the divorce papers there." she said. The door slammed shut. Roger couldn't move. He couldn't think. He couldn't even breathe. What had just happened? Please, please let this be a dream. Let this be over at daybreak. But he knew it wouldn't be. The shrieking sobs of Jonah brought him back to his reality; he was alone. Heart aching worse than it ever had before, Roger ran towards the nursery. He snatched the wailing baby out of his cradle and hugged him tightly. The endless sobbing commenced. He crumpled onto the floor, clinging to Jonah, rocking him back and forth, bawling as if he too were a child. Jonah eventually stopped his tantrum at the sensation of being swayed back and forth—it was his favorite thing used to calm down. The small boy sucked on his thumb. He reached up with his other hand and flexed it towards the crib. Never any words, just motions. Roger shakily stood up, still sobbing endlessly, and placed his baby in the cradle. Little Jonah let his eyes fall closed like nothing even happened. He didn't know he'd never see his mother again. He didn't know that his father was crying because he was so brokenhearted. All he could perceive was the soft blanket tucked over him, the stuffed rabbit he cherished, and his little thumb stuck comfortingly in his mouth. For a brief moment, Roger wished he could be in this numb little world.

The dark-haired man reached down into the crib to touch the boy's soft cheek with his index finger. "It's just you and me now," he whispered tearfully. A cry of despair caught in his throat, but he didn't let it out. "I'm never going to leave you behind." Roger stood there for several hours, just watching little Jonah sleep without a care in the world. Eventually, his body became so weak with fatigue that he laid down on the floor, and slept the entire night against the carpet of the nursery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, I'm really sorry this chapter is so short. But I had to make a transition chapter to really start to move the actual storyline along. So if you don't like this latest chapter, don't give up on me - the next one is going to be super packed with all the plot stuff. I promise. I hope you like it so far! please let me know of your thoughts if you'd like :)**

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Jack Merridew sat with his friend Roger on the sofa, closely watching little Jonah play on the sitting room floor. The boy crawled over to the toybox, whacked it over to watch everything spill out, and then stacked all the blocks up while simultaneously organizing all of the other toys in a perfectly straight line. Roger's eyes were dark-circled and tired. "He does this a lot?" Jack asked, not really sure why he was keeping his voice low—Jonah wasn't paying any attention anyway. Roger nodded. "Every minute of every day. He doesn't make games, no playing with dolls, no toy cars, nothing. Just lines. Lines and towers. And then what does he do? Knocks everything around just to set it up into lines again. It's almost hard to watch." he explained. Jack nodded slowly. Jonah picked up a yellow rubber ducky and studied it for a moment, then he let out a screech and threw it against his tower of blocks. He gave a clap at the sight of the crumbled structure. "Are you going to get him help?" Jack asked casually, not trying to sound pretentious or cocky. Roger took a sip of tea. "There's a doctor at the hospital that's conducting research on him, and he says the next thing he'd like us to do is bring Jonah to a group of other autistic children. The parents have a guided counseling session while the young ones interact. It's supposed to be good for him. That starts next week." The way Roger's voice sounded—it struck Jack in a way that he didn't consider before. The young man sounded exhausted. As if he had no options. As if he were alone. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a new single parent with a disabled child. He reached over and put a hand on his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "He doesn't even call me 'Dada'…" Roger said in a broken whisper. He let a few tears fall before drawing in a deep breath. "It's alright," Jack murmured. "The group sessions are going to help. He'll see other kids—maybe some will be past the stage of not speaking and he'll imitate them. It's going to work, Roger. You'll definitely get something out of it."

"It's just hard doing this by myself…"

Jack didn't know what the right thing to say was. He honestly felt so bad for his friend—the man's life had absolutely never been easy. Why couldn't he just catch a break for once? "I know it is." he whispered. "I'm not even much help to my wife, so she says. And look—I've got two children! You're doing better than I am right now. A six-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son makes things rough. By the way, did I tell you Ginny wants another one? She keeps reminding me that we should have one now before Michael gets too old. That way they can play together. See how well you're doing? You don't have to worry about all that."

"At least your children speak to you…"

"He will, Roge. I promise he will."

Jonah crawled away from his lines and wandered back over to Roger, hands outstretched towards him. He made some childish babbling sounds and patted his father's lap. "Want to sit with me?" Roger asked. He pulled the little one up so that he was resting on his lap. Immediately, Jonah started crying. Roger sighed in frustration. "_Just tell me what you want!_" he hissed. Jack gently placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. He watched as Jonah wriggled and cried and wrung his hands as if he had all the answers in his head and physically had no way of getting them out. Roger readjusted his position so that Jonah was reclining against his arm. The boy quieted a bit, the redness in his face dissolving slowly into its usual pale. He leaned back. Roger watched as he stuck his little thumb in his mouth, using his other free little hand to wave as if wanting more. Without a word, his father began rocking him slowly. His favorite sensation. Jack remained silent as the little one fell into a deep sleep, clearly appeased by the presence of the swaying and the soft humming Roger produced as a lullaby.

Several minutes later, Roger carried Jonah into the nursery to lay him in the crib. Jack just quietly observed how gentle and patient this man was, when he really knew he was at his wit's end. Roger sighed heavily as he closed the nursery room door after exiting. "And that," he said sadly. "is my entire day, twenty-four seven." Jack just once again patted his shoulder. He refrained from saying too much—he felt like it would be good for his friend to just unload all of his complaints and burdens upon him. Maybe it would release some tension. "I had to leave my job…" Roger choked out, overwhelmed by fresh tears. "I had to leave my job to be a _mother_…because my own wife couldn't handle it." Jack led him back into the sitting room, easing him onto a chair and gently wrapping his arms around the shaking frame. "It's alright, Roge. It's alright." he whispered. "Sometimes you've got to get to your lowest point to start climbing again. Just like a ball—it falls down, but springs right back up the moment it hits its bottom point. That's what you've got to do. The bounce back up is on its way." Roger really appreciated his childhood friend's advice and counseling. He needed to hear things like that. But the events in his life proved to him that that time of being at the lowest point was not an immediate leap back up to the top—sometimes one had to linger there.

And that was what scared him most.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm really glad to hear you're liking this! Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns. There will be more to come - this is only the beginning. I hope this chapter explains things a bit better and sort of moves things along. We're really getting into the storyline now! Leave a review if you'd like! :)**

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Roger hastily unbuckled the carseat of little Jonah, ignoring the protests that came along with lifting him out of the car. He struggled to balance the baby bag on his forearm, the screaming child clinging to him, and his keys to lock the car again. This group session had better be worth it. Roger reorganized himself quickly, walking through the doors of the hospital with a wailing two-year-old hugging his neck, attracting the attention of several nurses. He nodded politely but bee-lined for the elevators. God, this had better be worth it.

Roger finally reached his destination—a little playroom with big glass windows and doors, already containing several people and little children. He pulled the door open. A sweet nurse offered to take Jonah off his hands, which he accepted to get seated in the circle where all the adults were. Immediately, he gulped; most of the adults were women, mothers. Some fathers were present, but they always had a wife on their arm. He was the only single parent in the room. He was the only single father. The adults smiled gently at him occasionally—they were all there because of the same thing. The amount of empathy in the room began to work its magic on Roger, and eventually he was able to relax a bit.

The nurse seated herself in the circle with them all. "Good morning, everyone." she greeted cheerfully. "I'm Mary Grainer, Dr. Rodolphus's assistant. I'm going to be your leader and your guide to being able to understand our autistic children, through Dr. Rodolphus's ongoing research. While we talk and experiment, the doctor may come in to observe the children or stimulate them. He'll often be watching when we do our bonding portion of the class. First, I'd like to get all the children seated on their parents' laps, so if you would, please go to the toy area and bring your child here." Roger was stunned to see that all of the children were either lining up the toys or throwing them around. He carefully lifted Jonah from behind, earning a shriek of disapproval as did many of the parents. He cradled his son, hushing him softly, as he carried him over to the circle of chairs. He sat down with his boy on his lap.

Mary smiled warmly once everyone was seated. "Alright, very good. Now I'd like for us to go in a circle and say our names and the name of our child so we can get to know everyone. I know this may sound cliché, but we're all friends here. Every single one of us knows what kind of a struggle it is to be burdened by autism, and by working together we can search for more understanding for future generations; we can also improve our relationships with the children. No one is alone in this crusade—not them, not us. So why don't we start from my right, here? Ma'am, would you like to go first?" she went on. A copper-haired woman nervously glanced around. She introduced herself and her young little girl (who was one of two autistic females in the whole group), followed by every other mother or set of parents. Roger was last to go. "I'm Roger, I'm the only caretaker of my son, Jonah. He's two and a half years old." What else was there to say? But Mary's warm smile was welcoming, and she seemed to accept instantly that he was a divorced man caring for his baby by himself. Roger supposed he felt a little better about being there.

A lesson went on between the adults and the parents then, guided first by Mary. "Look at them directly, point to either them or yourself, depending on how far along their speaking habits are, and repeat the name. For example: Judy would point at her son and say, 'Donald'. Roger would point to himself and say, 'Dada'. Does everybody understand? The purpose of this exercise is to increase the children's awareness to others around them and become familiar with speaking the way they see occur day to day." she explained. Roger's face burned in embarrassment at the fact that Jonah had been noted as the one who couldn't identify his father. The families split off, sitting on the floor with the children as they repeated the exercise. Roger sat Jonah down in front of him. He gently tried to turn the boy's face up to look at him, but Jonah's eyes would wander as a result of his autism. The man just figured he'd have to catch his attention without capturing his eyes. He pointed directly towards himself.

"Dada," he said.

Jonah didn't seem to pay attention. He fiddled with his fingers, wrung his hands, attacked his shoelaces. "Dada," Roger tried again. Nothing. It was as if Jonah was in his own little world, drifting along as if he were the only person on the entire planet. Roger looked around—other children were responding, not using proper annunciation but still making progress. Much more progress than his little boy. "Dada," he said, tears sparkling in his eyes. "Dada!" Mary had been circling around the parents, observing, congratulating, encouraging. But she stopped in front of the Campbell boys, offering a pat on the back to Roger. "It's alright if he doesn't get it right away," she soothed. "The time will come when it's right. Just stay strong and practice, practice, practice." Roger didn't say anything. He knew that she understood why by the reassuring squeeze she gave his arm. The rest of the bonding time was spent with constant repetition of that same word; sometimes he even picked up Jonah's hand and pointed it towards himself to emphasize the importance of Jonah calling him that. But no. Nothing. A little disappointed and embarrassed at his unprogressive experience, he watched as Mary guided the children back to the toy area to play together.

She returned to her seat alongside the parents, smiling brightly when Dr. Rodolphus stepped in. He greeted everyone politely, although his eyes always flicked back over to the children. Roger could instantly tell that he enjoyed his job and wanted to do everything in his power to reach them, improve everyone's lives. "I'd like to stress the importance of something to you all," he said, taking Mary's seat when she went to the toy area. "It's the importance of communication. Even when the house is silent, even when it's dinnertime and everyone is concentrating on eating—talk. Talk aloud, talk to the children. The more they become accustomed to hearing voices and seeing facial movement, the more they'll want to imitate it. It will lead to success. I'm conducting more research, but I would like to encourage you all to sing to them even after they've fallen asleep. The brain is still functioning at this time. With sounds being nonstop, they'll look for a source, they'll want it, they'll be used to it. Consider it your 'homework assignment'." he advised. Tear burned Roger's eyes when he saw so many mothers crying at the doctor's words. Some of their children were even older than Jonah—the oldest being a six-year-old male. Would Jonah ever just learn how to speak? Would he ever understand how imperative verbal communication was? It was hard just hoping instead of knowing.

Roger practiced with Jonah so much at home. He repeated the motion over and over again, constantly reached out, but received no moment in return. He sang to Jonah as he rocked him, he talked aloud (even if it was to himself) every moment he could. He brought his son to a restaurant to introduce him to many people talking all at once—maybe it would spark something in him. He doubted it though, especially when Jonah had a violent tantrum the moment they were seated; apparently he didn't want to sit in the high-chair provided for him. He wanted to sit on his father's lap. But Roger stayed strong—he didn't give in just to appease the screaming child. It took a good amount of time for Jonah to get tired of his fit and settle back down. The waiter wasn't brave enough to approach the table until the child was reduced to sniffling.

Roger knew that Jonah wasn't going to eat. He never did. Even at home. He always made dinner for one, then put some of his food onto Jonah's plate to pick at. The waiter brought both men a glass of water. "Can I just order your son something? I won't charge you if he doesn't eat it." he offered kindly. But Roger rejected. "He has autism. He rarely eats anything. I'll just order and he can pick off of my plate, if that's alright." he admitted. The waiter nodded with a sad smile. He asked what Roger wanted to order, using his finger to direct the statement towards him.

"Dada!"

Roger gasped. He stared at Jonah, who was looking back and forth between the waiter and his father. "Do it again," Roger breathed, never removing his eyes from his son. "Point at me again," The waiter steadily pointed directly at him, once more earning an elated, "Dada!" Roger jumped up from the table. He ran to his son, tearing him out of the high-chair and hugging him tightly while spinning. "Yes, Jonah! Dada! It's Dada!" he cried out. The happy tears wouldn't stop flowing; a few people looked at him strangely, but he didn't have a care in the world. His son had just spoken his first word. It was working—he was doing it. The waiter smiled a little confused, but he was grateful to hear Roger thank him profusely for assisting him. He brought out a slice of chocolate cake when he delivered Roger's food for Jonah in celebration of a two-year-old speaking for the first time. He didn't charge Roger for it. Jonah was particularly interested in the sweet—he ended up taking more bites from that than the pasta before him. But it didn't matter. He was alright. He could do it. The door to Jonah's future had just opened, with language being the key.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for your support of this story! I appreciate it so much. I've never written anything like this before, and it makes me super happy to hear that people agree I'm doing well and accurately. I hope you enjoy this chapter - more will come! By the way, the grammar mistakes in Jonah's dialogue are supposed to be there; you'll see why soon. please enjoy! :)**

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The amount of progress Jonah was making with the help of his autism support group was astounding. Now at three years old, he could make small sentences and identify objects on his own—occasionally he'd even ask Roger to teach him new words. The once silent little boy was now an academic sponge, soaking in all the information he could process. Roger was so proud—he almost wished his ex-wife was around to see how well he'd done with their child….And then he'd remember her blatantly saying that she'd never wanted a baby in the first place. Time after time, he found himself having to push these sorts of memories out of his head in order to stay positive and communicative with his son, who was increasingly having better and better days.

And then again, some days were not so good.

Today was one of those days. Jonah was refusing to eat his baby-food jar of sweet potato because he'd learned from some of the older autistic kids how to argue. Mary informed the parents that at a certain age, a child with autism would often become obsessed with things—it was nearly impossible for them to let it go. Jonah's new obsession was cookies. But not any kind of cookies. Very specific. They had to be sugar cookies with blue sprinkles on top. Nothing else. No red sprinkles, no chocolate chips. Just sugar cookies with blue sprinkles. So while Roger was learning better communication and teaching methods, Jonah was learning how to throw louder tantrums like the other kids to get what he wanted. Roger held the spoon up to the boy's lips. "Bite?" he suggested. Jonah turned his head. "Bite, Jonah? Bite for Dada?" The boy stubbornly crossed his arms. "No bite. Regnathlim." he babbled. "Jonah, use your words." Roger tried to encourage. Sometimes the boy had a language of his own—while his father was beginning to get used to and understand it, he didn't take that as a form of proper communication. Jonah just had to learn English. "Cookie." the boy said.

Roger chuckled. "No cookie until you take a bite." But Jonah didn't see this as fair, and he wasn't playing. He refused again and again to eat the sweet potato baby food. After a while, Roger became a little frustrated—the child was underweight anyway, and not feeding him healthy foods wasn't going to help his situation. Suddenly, Jonah wriggled out of his high-chair and stomped away from the kitchen. "Jonah? Come!" Roger called. But he hurried away into Roger's own bedroom. Sighing heavily, the man got up to follow him and see where his hunt for a cookie took him. A loud thump caused him to run a little quicker. "Jonah?" he asked into the room. Jonah had crawled into the closet and was chucking shoe by shoe out towards the door. "Hey, stop that. Come here, Jonah." Roger said, watching the odd behavior. But again, Jonah wasn't playing. He was really mad. He stood up, toddled over to the bedside table, and kicked it. He swatted the lamp off completely. Roger lunged to grab him before he got hurt, but he didn't get to his child soon enough.

Jonah picked up Roger's framed wedding photo and threw it forcefully against the wall.

The glass shattered everywhere. Roger's heart froze—time stopped. He didn't keep the picture up as a reminder of what had failed, he simply had it near him as an unidentified, inadvertent hope that maybe someday Samantha would realize her mistake and come back for him, come see all that he'd done for their baby. "Mama." Jonah huffed. Mama? Where'd he get that from? The other kids in the support group said it. But didn't he know what it meant—that he didn't actually have a mother? "No, Jonah," Roger gasped, breathless from his quick grab and the broken objects. "Dada." But Jonah didn't seem to like that answer, because he crossed his arms again and repeated himself.

"Mama."

"No, I'm Dada. There is no Mama."

"Tetymak Mama."

"Words, Jonah."

"Warren has a Mama."

"Lots of kids do…but you're special. You just have a Dada."

"…Want Mama."

The words chilled Roger—he'd never expected to hear something like this coming from his baby. Jonah practically grew up without a mother, what was the big fascination with it now? How could he miss something he never had? "B-But you have Dada, and that's good—"

"WANT MAMA!" Jonah screamed, kicking his feet. The crying commenced—they were headed for a full-blown tantrum now. Jonah screamed the same two words over and over again, wringing his hands, bawling, kicking, squirming. It wasn't until he reached his hand up and smacked Roger right across that face that his father got frustrated. Stunned after the blow, Roger watched his son writhe almost painfully on the ground as he begged for his mother. The fury built up in him. He couldn't control it—no matter how many days he'd spent in that god-forsaken asylum, they'd never be able to heal his quirks completely. He got down onto Jonah's level. "There is no Mama!" he shouted. "You'll never have a Mama! _Never!_ I don't know why you are so intrigued by this—you've never had one and you never will! Get it through your head, Jonah!"

"Kids…has…mamas…!"

"But you don't, Jonah! And do you want to know why you don't?! It's because your Dada is bad—your Dada is sick! Mama didn't want to stay with Dada anymore because he's crazy, because he wanted a baby and she didn't, because he was nothing more than a prize in her life!"

"Gahbfopenv zajobr!"

"Mama was bad! Dada was bad! And you'd better be the one to turn out good in this god-forsaken family!"

"…Wjfuqeonl jakndgkjb _ksjdbgso!_"

Roger listened as Jonah babbled unintelligible things to him in his own little language, something that he understood but nobody, not even his own father, had a good enough grasp on. His heart was racing. Watching the poor little boy look at him with tear-filled eyes, seeing those wretched hands wringing endlessly, hearing the desperate screams….it all hurt too much. He couldn't do this. What was he thinking? Roger leaned close to Jonah, feeling himself sobbing along with his son. "You are my punishment," he whispered through gritted teeth. "You're my punishment for killing those kids, for not letting anyone in to help me when I needed it, for _being who I was all those years ago_. God gave me a son that can't talk to me, can't do anything himself. And He did it to show me how I was. How difficult I made things. This is you. _This is you_." Jonah was looking at his father directly and screaming in pure terror now. Sure he couldn't communicate well, but he could understand what some of Roger's words meant, and they were scary to him. Suddenly, Roger felt like something inside of him snapped painfully. He clutched at his chest, gasping through his sobs. Leaving Jonah sitting in the pile of glass and shoes, he ran through the house until he reached the kitchen and was able to dial on the phone.

"Jack?...I really, really need you."

Within minutes, Jack Merridew reported to the Campbell house as if he was a first-responder. He'd left work immediately to answer to his friend whom he found slumped against the hallway wall, sobbing endlessly as Jonah's piercing screams reverberated from the master bedroom. Jack knelt before the man, pulling his hands away from his face. "Roger?" he asked, quietly but with urgency. "Talk to me, dear. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me, Roger. Just breathe. Calm down, just calm down." he soothed, and finally Roger was coherent enough to simply point to the bedroom. When Jack walked in, he was stunned by the mess. "Jonah, what's going on?" he asked gently as he approached the screaming toddler.

"_MAMA!_"

Roger clung to Jack's arm weakly, still sobbing as he heard his child continuously shriek that one request. But Jack seemed to know what to do, as always. He was a leader. Once a leader, always a leader. He stepped carefully over the glass shards and picked the baby up by his underarms. He sat down on the bed with Jonah on his lap. The boy still cried endlessly. Roger watched from the doorframe as Jack rocked him back and forth, patiently waiting for the shrieks to die into wretched sobs. "Jonah, sweetie. Talk to me. Use words, tell me what's the matter." he gently eased. "M-Ma…Mama…!" he gasped out.

"What about Mama?"

"K-Kids…"

"More, more words."

"Kids…has…Mamas…"

"The other kids do? Well that's alright, Jonah. Don't be jealous of them because they have something you don't. Be happy that you have Dada. Dada loves you so, so much."

"Dada…bad…"

"No, Dada's not bad. Don't say that, darling."

"He…t-told me…"

"Well…how about I talk to Dada about that, ok? Did it make you scared? Sad?"

"Yes, yes."

"Let me tell you something. Dada's one of the greatest men out there. Do you like the doctor? Like Doctor Rodolphus? Well Dada is even better than him. Dada loves you with everything he is, alright? You'll understand that someday."

"W-Why…angry waknsnjb?"

"What did you say, dear?"

"Why Dada are angry with me?"

"No, no, no…he's not angry with you. Dada is angry at himself, and he shouldn't be. But he is. It hurts him—he hurts himself. You know how whenever you get a boo-boo? What does Dada do to make it all better?"

"Dada make bandage and kiss it."

"That's right, Jonah. Dada puts a bandage on your boo-boo and he kisses it to make it better. Sometimes you have to do that for him, ok? His boo-boos are on the inside though. But still, show him your love and that you care about him. It will make things better."

"Where is Mama?"

Jack looked up at his tearful friend. With a free hand, he motioned for Roger to sit with them and pick up the wedding picture. "See this picture?" Jack asked the boy. "Do you know who that is? Who is that?" He pointed to a slightly-younger Roger. "Dada!" Jonah giggled, hiccupping from his tears. "That's right, Jonah! And that lady right there is Mama."

"Mama…"

"But your Mama is in a picture. The other kids have their mamas with them, but you have a special version. Because this picture can stay with you all the time. You can take it to the park with you when you play, you can take it to Group, you can take it to sleep with you. But just know that your Mama is right there, alright? She won't ever be able to talk to you, but you know she's there. That's where Mama is."

Roger wiped his face with his sleeve. How did Jack know how to fix it? Feeling slightly jealous of his friend but majorly grateful, he reached out to stroke Jonah's hair. "Is that why you were so upset today?" he asked with a strained voice. "And you didn't know how to tell me?" Jonah looked up at him. His face was red and tear-tracked, much like his father's. "Didn't know how to say…" he admitted. Roger leaned forward, pulling the child into a big hug. Jonah clung to him tightly. Jack wrapped his arms around both. "Now Jonah, say you're sorry to Dada." he encouraged. "When you make a mess, you say you're sorry and help clean up." Jonah pulled back a bit. "I sorry Dada." he whimpered. Roger squeezed his tiny hands. "I'm sorry too, Jonah." The little boy wordlessly slid off of Jack's lap to pick up each of the shoes he'd thrown, lining them all up in a perfectly straight line by the wall.

Jack gently wiped his friend's face with his hands. "I-I'm sorry you had t-to intervene like that…" Roger whispered brokenly. Jack only hushed him. "No, no. Please don't be sorry. I have a ton of kids with more on the way—it's what I do. I'm supposed to be a father every minute of the day, whether the child is mine or not." he promised. Roger gasped a shaky breath. "I just didn't know what to do…" he moaned. Jack wrapped him into a hug. "It's alright, dear. It's alright. Group may tell you about the tantrums and teach you how to prevent it, but every child's different—and when that moment hits, it's just you and them. Don't worry, Roger. You'll get better at this. It's ok to ask for help."

"I…I said things to him…._h-horrible_ things…"

"Darling, you don't know what he was saying when he wasn't speaking English. He could've been just as upset. You've got to leave it in the past and explain that sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. He'll be alright. He's not afraid of you or anything."

The two sat there for a long time until Roger was calm enough to stop crying and relax a bit. A long silence passed. Jack helped his friend stand up and gave him one last hug and reassurance before stepping out the door to go home. Roger went into the kitchen to clean up the abandoned baby food and maybe just give Jonah one of those cookies. As he rummaged in the pantry, he felt something sticky slap against his left forearm. He looked down.

Jonah was standing beside him, having just stuck a fresh bandage on his father's arm, looking up with those big blue eyes. He kissed the bandage gently. "All better, Dada. No more boo-boo." he murmured. Roger knelt down to be on-level with his son. He recalled what Jack had said about his boo-boos being on the inside, and he was extremely impressed that even during his fit Jonah still remembered that. He hugged his son again. "All better," he whispered. "Dada loves you very, very much."

"Jo-Jo love Dada back," Jonah often referred to himself this way, never really being able to say 'Jonah' for some reason. The pair stayed close together for a long time until Roger broke apart to hand his son one of his favorite cookies. Jonah happily accepted and bolted for the table as his father did the dishes. A few minutes later, Roger went back to the table after realizing he'd forgotten to pick up the jar of baby food.

Sitting on the table was an empty jar, a freshly-used spoon, and some cookie crumbs, all in a nice straight line.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this one's a little short. I just couldn't keep you waiting and I thought a little more explanatory action was necessary. Is this still holding your interests? I really take into consideration the opinions of my readers, so let me know if there's anything I can improve on. I hope you like this chapter! :)**

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Roger hurried to the door the moment the doorbell sounded. "Coming!" he called out to the person—he had to leave a non-mobile five-year-old in the living room by himself for a split second. Roger gripped the handle and tore the door open, grinning when he saw it was his expected guest. "Maurice! I'm so glad you could come!" he greeted cheerfully, pulling his friend into a close handshake. The taller man was just as eager to see him. "Thank you so much for inviting me! I can't wait to see little Jonah after he's been so brave. I've heard all about the accident from Jack—is the boy still doing alright?"

"Yes, he's doing much better. Still can't move too much, but maybe that's alright for now. And sadly, he takes this injury as an excuse to eat as many cookies as he wants all day in front of the television."

"Sounds like a good boy! Where is the little guy?"

Roger led Maurice through the foyer and into the living room where Jonah sat on the sofa, buried under his favorite soft blanket with all of his stuffed animals lined up beside him. His left leg was wrapped in a thick white cast. Maurice approached him gently, kneeling down to be on his level. "Hello, little Jonah. How's your leg doing?" he asked. The boy didn't look him in the eye (he never did with anyone) but he did smile. "No more boo-boo. All better." he replied.

"What a nice cast you've got on your leg. You must be a very brave boy, I can tell!"

"Dada say only big boys get cast on their legs."

"And he's right! You can only wear one of those if you're really brave. Jonah…are you a superhero in disguise?"

The little boy giggled at that, hiding his face under the blanket. Maurice laughed his trademark chuckle. "Tell me how you saved the day and got your cast!" he encouraged. Jonah popped his head back up. "Dada and me played on the swings at the park. But I forget to hold on the strings and I fell off and got a boo-boo leg." he explained as best he could. Roger smiled a bit. He hated it when he saw the child's body soaring through the air and landing roughly on the dirt, but Jonah's interpretation was just so simple—as if he didn't even remember screaming in agonizing pain and having to go in an ambulance to the hospital. Maurice gasped dramatically. "So you mean to tell me that…you were _flying?!_" he asked wildly. Jonah shrieked with joy and clapped his hands as he nodded. "You really _are_ a superhero in disguise! You know what all superheroes need? They need a cape!" Maurice said as he took the blanket off the boy's knees and tied a roomy loop around his neck. "Look at you! You really are Superman!" he cried out. Roger laughed as he watched his friend lie on his back on the floor and hold Jonah up using his own arms and legs, as he saw his son spread his arms out wide to pretend he was flying.

Maurice settled Jonah back onto his chair, giving him one of his favorite cookies that he was still obsessed with three years later. Jonah had developed other obsessions too, some of which stood out more than others. For example, his food preferences—the cookies; he also had grown to prefer only soft stuffed animals, no plastic toys or dolls; he absolutely needed to sleep with his baby blanket, no exceptions; and Roger had to stay with him until he fell asleep every night and before every nap. It was like his little control—he needed some stability in his confusing world. The two adults went to the kitchen where Roger had some tea brewing. They talked and caught up with each other at the table, enjoying the new company and the little break from playing nurse to Jonah.

"I've got to tell you," Maurice said as he sipped his tea. "I love spending time with Jonah. He's such a sweet kid—there's a really big heart beneath all that mess."

"Yeah, he's a good boy." Roger replied, smiling into his cup.

"Do you think maybe I could see him a little more often? I mean, I really appreciate your invite over, and I don't want it to sound like I'm forcing you to have me, but I just think that interacting with him would give me more practice."

"Maurice, don't ever feel like you're forcing your company upon me! I really enjoy having you for a visit. Jonah does too. He always—wait, Maurice, practice? Practice for what?"

Maurice tried to suppress a grin unsuccessfully. "Wendy's pregnant," he quietly announced. Roger gasped and jumped up from the table. "Maurice, that's wonderful! You two are going to have a baby! I'm so happy for you, I really am!" he exclaimed, shaking the other's hand profusely and eventually just pulling him into a hug. Maurice just beamed and thanked him.

The happy mood was broken pretty quickly though by a piercing shriek emanating from the living room. Both ran to Jonah's aid, wondering what could possibly be upsetting or hurting him so much. The boy was curled up into himself on the chair, pointing and staring wildly at the television screen. "Dada! Dada! Make gone!" he screamed, as if a murderer was in front of him. The boy had paled considerably; his hands wrung in desperation for a solution to whatever problem he was experiencing. Roger quickly ran to the box and turned the little dial so that the channel changed from a cartoon to a weather station. Maurice calmed Jonah as he breathed heavily and continued to wring his hands. "Jonah, what's the matter?" he asked, wondering what could've upset the boy so much. "Bad…bad bad bad….Genjofroowdor fil." he muttered to himself. "Words, please? Can you use English for me?" Maurice tried. He just didn't want to further upset the child. "Bad…very scare…." the boy explained with normal language this time. Roger stroked his feathery hair gently. "It's all gone now, Jonah. All gone. You're safe." he murmured. This time, he looked up at Maurice. "It's something about that commercial that comes on—the one about toothpaste. He absolutely hates it. He'll scream and scream when it comes on, and even after I shut it off or it ends he just keeps shaking and crying. I tried to ask him what was so scary about it. All he says is that it is very bad. I asked Mary at Group what she thought, and she suggested that he might be afraid of all the grinning teeth—that maybe they remind him of something scary or they just look distorted compared to normal mouths. She didn't know. But it's every time, I swear." he explained. Maurice nodded understandingly. Clearly this was a result of just another one of Jonah's obsessions, but this one directly impacted his sense of fear and danger.

To take his mind off the frightening incident, Maurice aided in playing superhero once again, lifting Jonah up by his belly to give him the sensation of flight. The three laughed and pretended for a good amount of time before Jonah asked his father if he could sit back in his chair again. He was tired, without a doubt. "How about we go and lay down for a nap?" Roger suggested, lifting his little one up off the floor. "No nap…" Jonah yawned. He wasn't fighting it though. Roger smiled. "I'll be right back, Maurice. Just have to put him down." he said. He walked down the hall into Jonah's nursery room, where he laid the child in the crib. Roger angled the heavy cast so that if Jonah wanted to turn over in his sleep, he could successfully. "Dada, stay." he begged sleepily, outstretching his little hands. Roger smiled, swaying the hinged cradle so that his son could experience his most favorite sensation of all. Jonah's hand wrapped around a few of Roger's fingers to hold on to as he fell asleep.

It took several minutes to finally get Jonah to stay asleep, after which Roger quietly slipped out of the room and met a smirking Maurice out in the hall. Roger creased his brow in inquiry towards his friend's expression. The taller man put an arm around his shoulders. "You're a good dada to him, Roge." he explained simply. "I don't know of anyone else that could have your patience or your strength."


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize in advance for the length of this chapter, but I kinda wanted to get things moving again. Yep, it's another bridge chapter. Sorry about that. But I have so many things planned for this story that I honestly can't wait to get it all out there to you! Thank you for your reviews and support! :)**

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Roger set the little blue sneakers onto the floor beside the kitchen table. "Come over here and put your shoes on!" he called to Jonah. After a few seconds, hurried little footsteps shuffled into the dining room. The boy hopped up onto the chair after he slipped his little feet into the sneakers. "Dada help," he demanded, swinging them upward towards his father. Roger smiled tiredly. "Maybe it's time you learn how to do it all by yourself." he suggested. Jonah shook his head. "Dada," he finalized. Roger gave a sigh as he knelt down in front of his son, wondering if all seven-year-olds knew how to tie their shoes yet. "I'll tell you what," he offered. "If you try to learn how to tie your shoes with me, I'll give you a piece of chocolate. Alright?" It was like a light turned on in Jonah's brain. He sat upright and vigorously nodded. "Show me, Dada, show me!" he begged.

Roger picked up both shoelaces, slowly weaving them into a knot, then a perfect bow. "Now you try with your other foot." he said after the instruction. Little Jonah picked up one string in each hand. He just stared at them. Stared for a long time. "Dada…help." he whimpered shyly. Roger couldn't help but smile whenever his child took on such a sweet little voice—he guided the boy's fingers to form a knot, then allowed him to complete the task himself. "Good job, Jonah. Now make the bow; bend this left string into a circle, wrap the straight string around it, and now…pull it through. Can you do that?" he demonstrated. Jonah watched _so_ closely; his little eyes flicked everywhere from string to string. He slowly repeated his father's movements, getting stuck a little here and there, but always figuring it out in the end.

It took eleven minutes for Jonah to finally pull the laces into a sloppy little bow.

But when he looked down at his work, he gasped. "Dada," he whispered. Roger was beaming with pride. "What?" he breathed back, stroking his son's hair. "I did it, Dada."

"I know you did. I'm so proud of you."

"All by myself."

"You didn't even need my help."

"Dada…I tie my shoes."

"You're such a smart boy, Jonah."

The pair just sat there for a little while longer as they stared at the work before them. Roger could've jumped around the house exclaiming his news to the world, but something had him staying put and just grinning widely and whispering gently to Jonah. He rewarded him with the piece of chocolate, as promised; he watched him nibble and savor it as if it were the last thing he'd ever taste. After a bit, Jonah nodded. "Ready," he said. Roger picked up the big bag on the table and slipped his hand around his son's. "I tell everyone at the park that I tie my shoes." Jonah told him as they walked to the car. He felt tears spring into his eyes. "Tell everyone, Jonah. Show everyone how smart you are." he advised. The little boy held his head up just slightly as he sat in his carseat, having to be buckled in by an adult because he wasn't capable of doing it himself. But he was ok with that. He didn't know any different.

Once they got to the park, Roger spread a blanket out on the grass and sat down. He'd brought a book along, but he knew he probably wasn't going to read it—he had to keep an eye on his son. "Stay close to Dada when you play, alright?" he reminded as the boy ran in circles around the blanket, shrieking joyfully. Group had really enhanced Jonah's social skills, and he was always pretty excited to see the other kids there. Although they hadn't really tested his playfulness with strangers. So Roger wanted to keep an eye on that. But Jonah didn't seem bothered that there were other kids playing in a pile of sand nearby, so he toddled towards them to see what they were doing. "Hi," a little eight-year-old girl greeted as she scooped sand into the shape of a castle with her younger brother. Jonah didn't say anything. He just sat down too, humming softly to himself, and wrung his hands. The kids all stayed quiet for a while. No one really interacted. Then, Jonah turned to the girl. "I tie my shoes today." he informed her. She looked at him for a moment; she couldn't see that he had autism—it didn't work that way. "So? I've been tying my own shoes for years." she replied. Jonah thought for a moment. "No help from Dada." he said. The girl just raised her eyebrows and nodded, clearly not interested in the conversation. But to Jonah, there was nothing wrong with that. He was perfectly content with that sort of answer. Roger let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding; at least Jonah hadn't become upset.

The boy played in the sand for a while, then returned to the blanket to sit with his father. Roger hugged him. "Are you having fun?" he asked with a smile. Jonah nodded. "I tell that girl I tie my shoes. She does too." he reported.

"That's very good. See? You're just like the other kids. Just like them."

"I can tell those two people over there too?"

"Where? The people on the bench?"

"Yes,"

"Alright, if you want. But make sure you come right back here, alright? Dada's watching. Don't talk to any other strangers. You go there, and come right back. Scream if anything happens."

"Dada,"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just want to make sure you're safe."

"I go now."

"Alright Jonah, go ahead."

The brown-haired boy scurried away to the far park bench to a young couple that was sitting under the trees together. Roger watched as he approached them, pointed at his feet, grinned, and told them his news. Both seemed to know that something was off about him, because their reactions were very surprised and dramatic to boost his self-esteem. He giggled and laughed as they asked him questions and complimented his job well done. Roger didn't want them to feel like they had to keep talking to him, so he stood up to go bring Jonah back to their blanket. "Sorry," he said to the couple as he lifted Jonah onto his hip. "My son has autism. We're working on his social skills." The woman waved her hand. "No, no. It's no problem. We're very happy for his achievement this morning. He told us all about how his dad showed him how to do it—"

"Roger?"

The man beside her asked. Roger turned to look at him, and immediately his heart stopped. "R-Ralph…" he murmured. Black spots began swimming before his eyes. He hadn't seen Ralph since they were on the ship…since the doctors dragged him away to the asylum…since Ralph got to go free and Roger had to stay in the hospital….The man said nothing, just looked back at Jonah, who was now playing with a strand of his father's hair. "Your son?" he asked quickly. Roger nodded. "Yeah, he's mine."

"Married?"

"Not anymore."

"What happened?"

"Divorce,"

"Oh,"

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you married?"

"Yeah,"

"Kids?"

"A couple,"

"That's good."

The silence that fell was long and awkward. Neither man would look at the other. The poor girl in the middle would often distract herself by cooing to Jonah or complimenting him again. Roger waited a bit before shifting Jonah in his arms. "Well…er…we should probably be going," he mumbled nervously. Ralph nodded. "Good to see you," he replied. Roger gave his head a bow as well. "Same to you, Ralph." He walked away with Jonah leaning over his shoulder, waving at the couple with a big smile and not a care in the world. Roger sat on the blanket again, thinking everything over. Ralph. The man he feared seeing out in public more than anyone else. Because even though the childhood mental problems were taken care of, the guilt would never be eased. Never. He'd hoped to avoid him for the rest of his life, and he'd been pretty successful thus far. But not anymore. His luck had run out. Jonah squirmed around on the blanket and in the grass, occasionally talking to a flower he'd uprooted or a blade of the soft grass he was lying near. He seemed unbothered by the confrontation-gone-awkward. Roger found himself wishing that he could be that oblivious once in a while. He wished he could see the world as just a positive place, just like Jonah did.

On the ride home from the park, Roger was still deep in thought. "Dada?" a small, sleepy voice called from the backseat. Roger snapped out of his trance and looked into the rearview mirror at his son. Jonah was laying in his carseat, rubbing his eyes tiredly and yawning—he needed a nap. "Yes, darling?" he asked, feeling a little happier just by looking at him. Jonah settled back even further. "I tie my shoes today. And I make new friends. Can I tell Miss Mary at Group what I did today?" he asked. Roger smiled. He nodded, feeling those darn tears rise up in his eyes again—tears of pride and admiration for his son's undying bravery and persistence. "Of course you can." he answered. "She's going to be so happy to hear about your accomplishments."

"Dada?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Thank you,"


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope you like this chapter! I plan for the next one to be a really big one...with a huge surprise! Can't wait to get it out there to you. Enjoy!**

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At the next autism Group meeting, Mary addressed the class differently. Instead of letting the children go off to the toys and interact, she had the parents hold them on their laps. The week before, she'd encouraged all adult family members to attend. Roger was the only single-parent in the entire room. Of course it hurt him, of course people would look his way and immediately judge him; but he'd just squeeze his Jonah a bit tighter, and that made it all seem a little easier. "Alright everyone," she greeted, cheerful as always. "Today we're going to have an activity day. The parents and the children are all going to go into the same room—everyone gets an individual easel. We're all going to paint at the same time, then talk about what our pictures mean! Dr. Rodolphus will be observing, and sometimes he'll ask the children questions, but the purpose of this is to enable and encourage the boys' and girls' creativity. It's going to be a wonderful bonding experience as well. Now if you'll all follow me…"

The families rose and began to file out of the room. Painting? What was painting going to do for him in helping his child? Roger clutched little Jonah's hand as they made their way down the hall. Jonah had developed a new habit (or symptom, technically)—he was fascinated by certain objects. And by certain objects, that meant specifically his stuffed bunny. He carried it everywhere with him; he couldn't go anywhere without it. And he rubbed it against his face all the time. He was intrigued by its softness, Dr. Rodolphus surmised, and it would be very hard for him to let it go. The best prescription was to just allow him constant access. So as the followed the group, Jonah kept cuddling his face against his bunny, holding Roger's hand with his free hand.

When they got into the room, Mary placed them all in front of an individual easel. "Now let's all sit down…and then you can open up your jars of paint in the tray before you. Remember to frequently ask your child what they're thinking about doing. But don't oppress them or smother them like we talked about last time. Just let it be free. Let it be open." the nurse advised. Roger looked down—red, blue, yellow, and green paint jars rested in his easel tray. Same with Jonah's. "Want me to help you open them?" he asked his son, who was too busy cuddling the bunny to really pay attention to his surroundings. So he reached over, twisted off all the lids, and put a paintbrush in Jonah's hand. "Watch Dada—watch how Dada does it." he informed, waiting until the boy's eyes were upon his easel. Roger then made a swipe of red paint in a half-moon shape on his paper. Jonah stared for a long time. A very long time. Almost like he didn't know if he could possibly mimic this action—until Roger gently guided his brush into the blue jar, moved it up to the paper, and made a line with his son's own hand. "Dada, no!" Jonah cried out when he saw the mark. Roger retracted his arm. He didn't mean to offend the boy or degrade him—was he a bad parent? Jonah stuck his bottom lip out. "Not like Dada's." he said. Suddenly, it came to Roger. He didn't like it because his stripe was blue, and his father's was red. "Here, Jonah. Just use a different color. Watch—I'll add blue too." the young man gently advised. He made another half-moon shape. Amazingly, Jonah copied him. "You did it! Good job! Now keep going; add more colors just like Dada." he praised. Jonah giggled in happiness and scrubbed the bunny against his cheeks with glee as he splattered paint all over the canvas.

A voice leaned in close to Roger's ear from behind. "Well done, Mr. Campbell. Teaching by example is a very good resource. Excellent control." Roger turned back to smile at the man. Dr. Rodolphus grinned back with a nod. He made his way around the second row of little artists, offering praise and suggestions to the parents who needed to help their children. "Chednofulk." Jonah told his paintbrush. He shrieked with delighted as he flicked it at his paper, sending little green splatters everywhere. Roger laughed. "What are you doing, silly monkey?" he asked. Jonah proudly wrung his hands. "What are you painting?" Roger asked, remembering what Mary had suggested they talk about. "Raralthne! Wisghol, quatekilk…nes!" the child babbled in his own language. Although Roger knew the boy had answered that he was doing something about a house, not everyone in the world would understand his little language. "Words, please." he encouraged. Jonah sighed. "Jo-Jo make house and flowers." the boy answered. Honestly, it looked absolutely nothing like a house with flowers. There were no straight lines, no indications that a form was even being shaped on the paper. But if Jonah saw a house there, there was a house. Roger nodded, complimenting his abstract skills. A few seconds of silence passed by. "Dada is draw what?" a little voice asked. Roger looked down. Big gray eyes gazed up at him eagerly, immediately flicking away as they always did as a result of his autism. He was stunned for a moment—the boy had actually formed a question all on his own. He didn't even need prompting. "Er…I'm painting a butterfly." Roger answered. He suddenly became a little self-conscious about his work; if Jonah saw a house with a flowerbed in his swirls of color, how would he perceive a clearly defined object? Jonah nodded. "Color," he commented. Roger wasn't sure he was asking to have more color put on it, or less, or if it was too bright…but none of that mattered—he and his son had just held a two-sided conversation for one of the first times. Grinning, he went back to painting.

Nearing the end of class, only one little boy had to be removed by his parents for throwing a fit. It was time to start cleaning up. "Now children, come over and show your artwork." Mary called, bringing all of the little ones up to the front of the room. "I would like for you to look at your parents, and say what you painted—right here in front of everyone. Can you all do that? And if you don't want to, just shake your head 'no'. Alright? Let's have Fred go first. Fred, can you say what you painted?" Mary sweetly asked, kneeling down beside a taller redhead. The boy looked around a bit. "Dog," he answered after some hesitation. All of the parents in the room clapped. Sure, there were some lines that indicated he'd tried to make a dog. Unlike Jonah. "Now Joseph, what did you paint?" Mary went on.

"Farm!" Clearly Joseph was a little farther along in his recovery.

"Bridgette? Can you tell us what you made?"

"Bee,"

"Very good. Mark?"

"M-Mark m-m-make a-apple!"

"Excellent! Billy, please?"

"No."

"Ok, that's fine. You don't have to share if you don't want to. How about you, Jonah? Do you want to tell us what you made?"

The boy wrung his left hand that was holding the picture, and with his right, he rubbed the stuffed bunny against his cheek. Roger subconsciously drew in a breath—he prayed that his boy would be brave. "House. Flowers." Jonah said. It wasn't the worst painting—there were others who apparently didn't know how to make lines and shapes form objects, but that was alright. Roger clapped loudly and stood up for his son. Jonah smiled proudly, wringing his hands and stamping his little feet on the ground as he grinned—something he always did to show his excitement. As soon as all the other children finished their presentations, Jonah ran back to his father and was caught up in a big hug. "Want to go home?" Roger asked his boy. "Flowers." Jonah answered automatically. Communication was a little difficult. Nevertheless, Roger smiled and walked out of the hospital with the other parents.

As soon as they got home, Roger pinned the picture of the 'house with flowers' upon the wall in the front foyer. "See, Jonah?" he told his son. "That's your picture. Dada put it up so everyone can see it." The boy was mesmerized at the sight of his artwork on his wall. So mesmerized, that he actually sat down in front of it and just stared, rubbing his bunny against his cheek, the entire time Roger made dinner.

Roger set the baby fork on the table for Jonah. Suddenly, his table-setting was interrupted when he heard a frustrated scream pierce the quiet house. Immediately he ran to the sound of wailing. Jonah was standing near the foyer wall, holding Roger's picture of the butterfly in his hand. "Dada…" he sobbed. The man knelt beside him. "What's wrong? What's wrong, Jonah?" he asked worriedly. Jonah continued crying as if his heart was broken. "Picture on donste! Picture on donste—Dada! Dada! Now! No stay…" he babbled. Normally Roger would've corrected him and made him speak in English. But because Jonah was so incredibly upset over this, he just let it go for once. "You want Dada's picture up on the wall too?" he asked, earning a slight nod from the child. "Ok…alright…Jonah, it's nothing to cry about. Come on…let's go get some tape so we can make it stay on the wall. You can help me put it up if you'd like." He took the sobbing boy's hand and led him to the kitchen where they picked up the roll of tape and went back into the foyer. "Where do you want it?" he asked his now sniffling son. Jonah pointed at a random spot. "Here…put the tape on these corners…just like that…and now hop onto Dada's shoulders—I'm going to lift you up so you can reach!" he encouraged. Jonah giggled as he sat on his shoulders, and squealed delightedly when he was raised into the air. "Stick it on the wall, Jonah! Pat the tape with your hands!...Good boy! Look—it's sticking on the wall now! Right next to yours. Good work, Jonah." Roger praised as he set his son down.

Literally for the rest of the night, Jonah sat in front of the two pictures in the foyer, rubbing the bunny against his cheek and gazing upwards with a contented little smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ok, as promised, here's the explosive chapter! I really hope you like it. Let me know your thoughts about all this!**

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Roger looked over his shopping list again. "Come on, Jonah." he called to his son, who was admiring a pack of sponges just a bit down the aisle. Grocery shopping with Jonah was often a little difficult—he was very shy as it was, and his autism made him not want to talk to anyone, even if it was a little old lady telling him how cute he was. Not to mention he got distracted easily. "Dada," he said aloud, still staring at the sponges. "Get it," Roger smiled. "No, no. We have enough sponges at home. We need to go get some fruit now—do you want to come pick it out with me?"

"Get this,"

"We can't get those."

"Why?"

"Because we have enough at home!"

"Rugdo,"

"Our sponges are soft too,"

"Please?"

"No. Come on, let's go get some strawberries."

"Dada…"

"Don't make me pick you up and carry you like a baby…"

Jonah scurried towards his father in an instant. He didn't like getting carried around the grocery store because one time a kid his age pointed at him and laughed while Roger was holding him. Ever since then, he was afraid to be made fun of out in public. Roger saw it as a step—at least Jonah was becoming conscious of the world around him. Roger shifted the basket onto his other arm so he could grab his son's little hand. "Good boy, Jonah. Such a good listener." he praised. Roger had been encouraged by Doctor Rodolphus and Mary to either put Jonah in a special-education school or homeschool him so that he wouldn't be delayed in learning. Of course he opted for homeschooling. He couldn't let his little boy go. So even though Jonah was doing pre-school and kindergarten level works at seven-and-a-half years old, he got praised for every little right he did. It was important to boost his confidence whenever possible.

Jonah hummed to himself happily as he carefully selected a few strawberries and put them into the basket. Roger grabbed two apples (because now his son screamed and shrieked with joy at the sight of apple slices during meals for some reason) and turned to put them into the little basket along with Jonah's selection. But he was too late, because the boy was already taking a sticky bite out of a strawberry they hadn't paid for. "No, no!" Roger said, saving the stem from the fruit from the munching little jaw so he could explain it to the cashier. "Yum," Jonah absently said to himself. Sighing but grinning, Roger led them to another aisle.

Jonah pointed at the boxes of his favorite kinds of cookies. Thankfully, he'd grown to have more of a wide variety of food obsessions—he wouldn't eat anything except his favorites. "Cookie!" he cried out, tugging on Roger's sleeve. "Want more cookies for the house?" he asked him. He earned a vigorous nod. After taking the box down from above, he noticed a pair of big blue eyes fixed upon him. "I hold?" Jonah squeaked. Roger smiled again. "Sure. You can hold the box. But don't open it, alright?"

"Ok,"

"I mean it,"

"Ok,"

Jonah happily clung to the box, hugging it close as they made their way up and down the aisles. They passed a woman at a table that was cooking something. "Sample?" she asked aloud. Jonah pointed at himself. "Jo-Jo." he replied. Roger approached the older woman. "Sorry," he said softly. "He has autism. There's a child in our Support Group named Sam, and I think he thought you were saying that name." The woman smiled down at the little boy who was now lifting up the hem of the tablecloth, asking himself aloud if she was half-table or did she have feet. "That's alright, dear. Would he maybe like to try some chicken stew? It's a free sample—perhaps he'd like it." she offered. Roger took him by the hand to get him off the floor. "Thank you, ma'am, but he's extremely picky about his food. He can only eat the things he's practically obsessed with, and that's a very narrow variety. I appreciate your asking, though." he explained. But Jonah was jumping up and trying to see over the ledge of the table, wringing his hands and babbling useless words to someone that didn't understand him. "What's the matter, baby?" Roger asked, bending to hear him. "You want to try some?" The woman eagerly poured some of her cooking into a tiny plastic cup, grinning from ear to ear as someone tried her recipe. Roger took a small spoonful and held it to Jonah's lips. "Take a small bite, Jonah. Let Dada hold the cup and spoon." But Jonah was excited to open his mouth and practically swallow the plastic whole. After a moment of chewing, he suddenly nodded vigorously. "Dada! Dada!" he cried out, clapping his hands. Roger raised his eyebrows. "He likes it," he murmured. "That's a first…"

"Dada! Tegnarlys—please!"

"You want more? Here have another spoonful. Jonah, eat it politely. Good boy."

"Yummmm…."

"I'm glad you like this, baby. Does it taste good?"

"Dada! Make at home!"

Upon hearing this unnatural plea for a specific (and healthy) meal, Roger's eyes widened. "S-Sure, Jonah. I'll make it at home. I'll make it a lot—and we'll have leftovers too! Ma'am, do you have a recipe for this? It's kind of a breakthrough." The woman handed him a card with a big smile. "Of course, dear. I'm glad someone enjoys this. Here—take some more little cups for him. If he likes it so much, he can have more." She filled up a few more of the plastics and gave them to Roger eagerly, which caused Jonah to clap and jump up and down. Roger bent down to him; he smiled, but he wanted to see what the boy really knew. "Jonah, remember your manners." he reminded. Jonah looked up at the lady, not directly at her face but nearly there, and said, "Thanks for stew chicken!" Imperfect, but really _really_ close. The woman smiled and put a hand over her heart, waving to the boy as he walked away with his father to round up the ingredients for his new favorite food.

Roger picked up a small cylinder full of pepper, thanking God that his son was finally beginning to eat normal meals—he no longer was demanding just cookies, or just chocolate; now he liked strawberries, he even ate a little bit of applesauce, and apparently he was ready to try chicken. He was just so grateful that things were beginning to get a little ea—

"Mama?"

Roger looked up at his son who had wandered down the aisle and was looking to his left, holding the wedding photo in his hand. He always kept it in his pocket. Always. Roger sighed. "I already explained that to you, Jo-Jo." he said, but his son didn't seem to hear him. "Mama," the boy repeated softly. Roger put the salt into his basket and walked over to him, ready to take his hand and re-explain the picture. But Roger froze when he saw that a woman was staring back at Jonah with wide eyes. The little boy glanced down at his picture, then at her, then at the picture again. "Mama," he breathed. Roger felt everything inside him go numb. The woman that was standing in front of him was his ex-wife, indeed, but she had a man with her. The man had his eyebrows raised. Samantha didn't know what to say. Jonah took a cautious step towards her, holding out his picture. "Mama?" he asked her. Samantha glanced down at the old picture which was a bit worn, but she immediately recognized it. Jonah understood. "Mama, you will come back?" he asked innocently. Roger's heart was pounding in his chest. He had nothing to say—he hadn't ever imagined seeing her around. He'd never planned to have Jonah meet her.

Samantha studied the tiny little boy before her. She took in his skinny limbs, his bright blue eyes, his thin brown hair. "W-What?" she whispered. He looked down at the floor. "Kids at Group all has mamas. Jo-Jo no have mama. You are Mama. You will come back?" he asked sweetly, not knowing that behind him Roger was fuming. "She doesn't want you, Jonah." he hissed, glaring at the woman. "Remember what she said about you? Remember she said she never wanted you, and that it was Dada's fault that you were born? She left us. We didn't leave her."

"Maybe people changes…?"

"People don't change."

"Dada say I change."

"…I meant you grew up. You're doing better because you're a big boy now."

"Mama grow up."

Roger stared at her. He stared at the man who'd just wrapped a protective arm around her midsection. He stared at the barely noticeable bump beneath her jumper. "She's replaced us, Jonah." Roger murmured to his son. He'd never felt so angry. Why did she leave him after he'd wanted a baby, but it was alright for her to get pregnant with another man right away? "Tell him," he said to her. That was all he had to do to get tears to fall down her cheeks. "J-Jonah…" she whispered with difficulty. "Y-You're…_talking_…"

"Jo-Jo know things. Jo-Jo tie shoes. See?" the boy said as he led out his foot to her. He didn't understand the depth of the situation.

"V-Very…"

"And Jo-Jo make friends. At Group. We all friends. Dada make friends at Group too. Uncle Jack say he will come to Group someday. Uncle Jack babysit Jo-Jo."

"What's…G-Group?"

"Fun!"

"I-I…"

"Mama, you will come back? You will come to Group with Dada?"

"…Jonah…I-I…I'm not married to Dada anymore."

"You still are my Mama."

"J-Jonah…Jonah stop this….I'm not. I'm not part of your family. I have my own now….You just stay w-with…with…"

"With Dada."

"T-That's right….I'm not yours anymore."

"You always are be my Mama."

Tears fell from Samantha's cheeks now, and it seemed like she was holding back sobs. "W-Where are you _getting_ this from? I'm not around anymore, Jonah. I won't ever be. I'm happy with my new husband, I'm happy in my new home, I'm happy with my new child—"

"Baby? Mama has baby?"

"…J-Jonah…I shouldn't have let that slip…"

"Mama no want Jo-Jo. Mama want new baby."

"Jonah, please—"

"New baby w-won't makes other kids point and laugh. New baby will be good boy. New baby will has Mama. Jo-Jo is bad. Mama no want Jo-Jo."

The boy was visibly disturbed now. Tears were forming in his eyes. As much as it satisfied Roger to hear Jonah admit those things, those feelings, to Samantha, it absolutely broke him to realize that Jonah understood he wasn't wanted. It hurt tremendously. Samantha drew a shaky breath. "I-I…can't…" she whispered. "I can't…be your Mama." Jonah looked down at the ground. The disappointment on his face was beyond anything Roger had ever seen—this was a whole new level of rejection towards his son. Sure, the kids at the playground would steer clear of him, the women in church would roll their eyes if he squawked during the service; but having to hear his _own mother_ say that she'd moved on and didn't want to even see him was utterly different. Samantha bent down and opened her arms. "Come here…" she breathed. "Just hug me goodbye." But Jonah retreated, whimpering a little as he hugged himself and turned away from her. Roger took the boy into his own arms. "He doesn't have to say goodbye to you." he said coldly. "Not when you never said goodbye to him. Or gave him a good reason." Samantha tried to avoid looking at him. Apparently her new husband didn't have any words either. She turned slowly and began walking away, ignoring the sounds coming from little Jonah, crying into his hands quietly. Jonah rarely, rarely cried anymore. He'd get angry, he'd throw things and hit and scream until the tears came out by nothing but pure frustration, but he never cried out of _sadness_. Roger squeezed him a little tighter. "It's—" but he was cut off when Jonah wrenched himself from his arms, whirled around and stared at his mother's back. "I hate you!" he shouted.

Time stopped.

Not only did Jonah just use a complete sentence, with a pronoun, a correct verb, and actual syntax, but he'd just expressed an incredibly strong emotion that he never even used before. Ever. Samantha turned back, her hand over her mouth. "I hate you!" Jonah repeated. "I hate you I hate you I hate you!" More and more people were beginning to peek around the aisles to see why a child was screaming like that. Samantha's face reddened, fresh tears sprang from her eyes, and she never took her hand away from her mouth. Jonah let out a large sobbing sound, then turned his back on her. He started running. Roger gave her one last accusing glare before taking off after Jonah. He finally caught up to the boy in the seafood department, clinging to his son and just letting him sob in the ultimate despair. "It's alright, baby. We won't see her again. Ever again. I'm sorry you're feeling sad, Jonah. Dada loves you very much, always remember that." Roger soothed gently. Jonah cried for a long time in his arms, separate from everyone else in the store. He couldn't pull himself together. He was actually hurting. So Roger let him take his time with things—he even spoon-fed the boy some of the leftover chicken stew in hopes to dry his eyes. After a very long time of consolation, Roger carried Jonah and the market basket to the cashier and paid for everything. It was almost silent on the car ride home.

As soon as the groceries were put away, Jonah reported that he was going to be in his nursery for a while. Roger let him go. He knew the boy was probably going to go in there and just sob again out of the view of any onlookers, but that was alright with him. Having to hear what Jonah did was tough—especially when the child couldn't understand. Roger sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. He didn't know when the tears came, but the broke past his emotional walls and cascaded down his cheeks in regret, anger, and sheer loss of hope.


	9. Chapter 9

**Had to think about this chapter for a while to really make it something good. Sorry for the delay! The next one will be up soon. Please enjoy!**

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Roger sipped his cup of tea as he watched Jonah roll around on the floor with his favorite stuffed bunny, speaking in his own language and occasionally screaming about something. Jack sat across from his friend as he also observed the child's behavior. "Do you ever wonder what he thinks about?" the redhead asked aloud. Roger frowned. "I don't know that thoughts come in a pattern in his head. I think they just all jumble together." he answered. Jonah crawled over to the table where they sat and climbed up onto the chair. He babbled to himself as he neatly lined up all of the spoons, napkins, salt and pepper shakers, and unused teacups all in one straight line. Roger averted his eyes—he hated seeing those lines all around the house. It was the one thing that really set him off the most; they were like a constant reminder that his son wasn't like the other kids, that even though Roger saw him as perfect, he truly wasn't. Jonah seemed satisfied with his work, so he hopped down from his seat and ran screeching joyfully towards the living room.

Jack cracked a small smile. But Roger sighed as he moved all of the tableware to their respectful locations. "Drives me crazy," he mumbled under his breath. Jack looked up at him. "The lines do?"

"Yeah…they're always just sort of…everywhere. It bothers me. I don't know why."

"Will he ever just stop making them?"

"Don't think so,"

"Maybe he needs something to occupy his time."

"Like what?"

"…We just got our kids a dog."

Roger furrowed his brow. "Ohhhhhh no. I'm _not_ bringing an animal into this house. I've got one already."

"It might be good for him, Roge. Maybe he'll like having something that will be loyal to him, something that's alive and isn't a stuffed doll. It might help him."

"If I let him get a dog, he will not walk it by himself, he will not feed it, he will not clean up after it. It's all my responsibility. All he'll do is—"

"Play with it."

"…Right."

"What's wrong with that?"

"What wrong with that? Jack, I've got a small child that acts like a three-year-old to clean up after and feed. I don't need a puppy to come in and double the mess. I've got enough on my plate."

"But he'll love that thing to death. And it'll love him back."

"I get a set amount of money each month from my ex-wife to help care for him. Granted, yes I do still have money coming in from good investments and the stock market. But why would I want to waste all that on an animal?"

"Sure the vet bills and stuff aren't fun, but would you rather put your money into getting that sofa cushion tailored, or a friend that would keep Jonah from destroying it further?"

"…The sofa cushion?"

Roger looked over and saw one of the pillows from the couch go sailing through the air from the living room and into the dining room, an airborne trail of fluff following close behind it. Jack leaned across the table and brushed his friend's knuckles understandingly. "He's getting older," he said softly. "He's going to want to see how stuff happens and he's going to get ideas in his head. Maybe getting him a…_distraction_, per se, will teach him that he can be gentle and affectionate towards things." Roger let out a big sigh as he stared into his cup of tea. It took a long time before he actually spoke. "I can't believe that my twenty-nine-year-old friend is trying to convince me to get a puppy before my eight-year-old son is." he breathed. Jack grinned. "Oh come on. You're only twenty-eight. And don't you remember when they'd bring those service dogs to the…institution? I remember a very excited little boy who counted down the days until he'd get to see them again. Just for fifteen minutes. Imagine what Jonah would do if he got to keep one all to himself…"

"…I can't be sure…."

"So when are you going to the shelter?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Exactly."

Despite the straight face Roger was trying to keep, he couldn't help but crack a small chuckle at Jack's satisfied expression. It was true—Roger had grown up in the asylum telling Jack every weekly visit that he wanted a puppy when he had a house all on his own. But was now a good time? As much as he wanted to convince himself that they would only go to the shelter to look, he knew he was going to walk out with a puppy on a leash and a proud little son. Maybe that was what was important.

So the next morning, Roger found himself getting dressed rather quickly subconsciously and hurrying Jonah along in the morning process. "Dada," the small boy asked in the car. "Where we go so fast? Group?"

"No, we're not going to group." Roger replied, suppressing an excited smile. Why was he getting so happy about this? He told himself he wouldn't.

"Surprise?"

"It might be. I don't think you'll ever guess where we're headed…and what I'm getting myself into."

"…Rhaknej?"

"Words, please."

"Ice cream?"

"…No, not ice cream. Even…even better."

When Roger pulled up to the animal shelter, Jonah was still confused about where they were. He couldn't read that well. So he took him out of the car, walked him inside, and met with a woman behind a desk. "May I help you two today or are you just looking?" she asked cheerfully. Roger sighed. "Unfortunately…we're looking for a pet." He really didn't mean it—he just had to keep telling himself that so that he wouldn't get overexcited and control Jonah's selection. The woman laughed. "You can head back to see all the animals, and when you're ready to meet with one specifically please feel free to ask one of our associates." she informed. Roger tugged Jonah's hand to get him to walk back into the room of unclaimed pets.

As soon as they entered, Jonah gasped. "Nanamals!" he cried out gleefully. "Zoo!" Roger smiled and knelt to his level. "Well, it's not a zoo, Jonah. Today you get to pick one to take home with you—whether it's a cat, a rabbit, a…dog…you can have it. It's going to be your best friend, alright? Do you like that?" he explained. Jonah shrieked with joy, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands. "Thanks Dada! Thanks Dada!" he shouted. They circled every tank, every box, every cage. "Tootle," the boy identified as he pointed at some turtles. "Baba," was the name of the bunnies. After walking around all the animals and inspecting them carefully for over an hour, a woman approached them. "Can I help you find something?" she asked. Roger stood up to greet her. "We're just looking around. I told him he could get any pet he wants, and he's particularly choosy with everything." he replied.

"Has he seen our puppies?"

"Yes, and that seems to be one of the finalists. The puppies and the turtles."

"Tootle." Jonah babbled upon hearing the word he recognized.

"Please…please forgive me for asking this, sir…but…is the child…er…special needs?" the woman asked, reddening in embarrassment at such a forward question.

"He has autism," Roger answered. He wasn't really affected by her asking, he just wondered what that had to do with Jonah's selection of an animal.

"We have some very special friends for very special people. I don't know if you're interested, but we raise and train service dogs here—they tend to help a lot of people who are disabled and they are extremely obedient. Perhaps you'd like to take a look?"

"I'd say I'm interested. But can I ask a question? How would a service dog help a child with autism? Jonah can do things on his own—he just needs a friend, is all."

"That's exactly what they love to be. We've seen some autistic children, teens, and adults looking for a friend in an animal, and these dogs are specifically trained to handle the people and help them. For instance, if your son—Jonah was his name?—stands up too fast and begins to fall back unsteadily, the dog will know the signs and will actually use itself to break the fall. Also, if Jonah needs to reach something, the dog will get it. Most importantly, if Jonah's scared and hugs the dog really tight, it won't snap or become spooked—in fact, it'll return the affection. The service dogs really read humans. They know us better than we know ourselves sometimes."

Roger followed the woman to a separate room, where all kinds of dogs wearing special jackets were being trained and practicing with their trainers. He knelt beside his son. "Do you want to get a puppy?" he asked. Jonah nodded exceptionally excitedly, wringing his hands in earnest. "Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!" he shouted. The woman smiled. "We do have some service dogs that are older, but if he wants a puppy, we have some trained ones already. That way he and the dog will grow up together. It creates a more natural bond." she explained. Jonah followed her to a pen of small little yellow Labradors. "Puppies is cute!" he gleefully told his father. One trotted right up to him and raised up on his hind legs. The dog put his front paws on Jonah's shoulders, and standing up his face met with the boy's. Roger was sure that would do him in for the puppies—one little thing like that and Jonah was frightened instantly. But this time, the tiny boy giggled. "Doggy like Jo-Jo!" he exclaimed. He threw his arms around the dog with enough force to make Roger cringe a bit. But the dog rested its head on Jonah's shoulder. "Jo-Jo like doggy back." the boy murmured.

The spent another hour with that same dog and a trainer to be sure it and Jonah were a perfect match for one another. Roger shook his head as he signed the papers to adopt the dog, mentally cursing Jack Merridew for even putting this idea in his head. Sure, a service dog was trained to be good—this one even knew to ring a bell on the door when it had to go to the bathroom. But what if Jonah grew tired of it? His doubts were answered as he paid for the little puppy and a tug pulled his sleeve. Jonah looked up at him innocently. "Doggy want toys," he said clearly. Roger sighed. "How do you know? We just got him a ball when I paid for him. He'll be happy with that for now."

"He tell me."

"He told you he wants toys?"

"Yes."

"What did he say he wanted?"

Jonah pointed back at a wall of pet supplies, straight at a whole bunch of dog interaction-stimulators. "He want those."

"We can't get him all the toys. I'll tell you what—you go with him to pick out three toys, bring them back here, and I'll pay for them. Alright?"

"Yes, Dada."

Jonah skipped off with the dog's leash in hand and knelt in front of all the dog toys. He showed each one to Doggy (which was apparently the name that stuck) carefully and deliberately. The dog sat beside him, alertly listening to his new master's voice and watching his every move. Maybe this wasn't a bad choice…

Jonah returned with a plastic red bone, a soft stuffed squeaky raccoon, and a ring made of rawhide. "Doggy pick," he said proudly, setting the items on the counter. The cashier grinned at him. She let Roger hold the bag and Jonah walked Doggy outside the shelter and to the car. When he was getting buckled into his carseat, he cried out, "Dada! Doggy sit with Jo-Jo!"

"Maybe Doggy should sit in the front seat at first, Jonah. Just so he stays safe." Roger tried to reason. He didn't want the dog to get frustrated with his son right away.

"Doggy love Jo-Jo."

Again, Roger found himself cursing the name of Merridew for getting Jonah attached to the dog so fast, as he'd predicted. "Alright, fine. As long as he sits on the seat next to you." he reasoned. But Jonah was perfectly content. And apparently Doggy was too, because he liked the boy's cheeks once he settled in the back. Service dogs weren't supposed to get tired of their owners. Grinning, Roger figured both animal and boy loved each other so much already that it would be hard to separate them. It was a good feeling. The dog was very good when being introduced to his new home. The plan was to let him sleep in the nursery with Jonah so that the boy would (possibly) stop crying in the night for attention. Roger created a bed out of blankets for Doggy, and he seemed to be quite fond of it. For the rest of the day, Jonah played and played and played with the animal. They tumbled together, they rolled, they fetched, they snuggled, and eventually they fell asleep together on the sofa just before dinner. Roger called up Jack as he sat at the table, watching his two family members sleep. "Hey, Jack." he greeted after the redhead answered.

"So…how's the new child?"

"Child? This things acts like an adult! It's so good with Jonah. I was afraid at first, but they have so much fun and the dog is very well-trained."

"What'd you name him?"

"Jonah named him 'Doggy'. It stuck."

"Will you say it?"

"Aw, come on, Jack. I already admitted it was a good thing. Isn't that enough?"

"Say it…."

"Alright, alright. You were right, Jack Merridew. Getting a dog was a good idea for Jonah, and it's not as troublesome for me. You were right."

"…I know."

Roger grinned when he heard his friend laughing on the other end of the phone. No, it wasn't a bad thing to get a dog for Jonah. And a service dog was a perfect fit for both of them. Doggy stretched in his dream, momentarily waking just to give the sleeping Jonah a kiss and a nuzzle with his nose. Yes, this was a good idea after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**A little one to make you smile :) thanks for all the support, as always!**

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Roger gathered up some papers quietly, moving through the house on tip-toes so that he wouldn't wake his napping baby in the other room. He silently opened the briefcase on the table. Roger and Jonah had mainly been living on the payment of child support from Samantha—which was agreed to by divorce settlement. Jonah was still her biological child, after all. In addition to her monthly contribution, Roger was generating quite a substantial income from his shares in the stock market and his investments. Both raked in high stakes. They could live comfortably yet still have room for unexpected purchases (like a new puppy). Recently though, Jonah was learning how to play by himself. He became obsessed with certain toys and never put them down. And most importantly, he had Doggy to play with. As much as Roger hated to admit to the grinning redhead that he was indeed right, that Jonah would be less demanding of paternal attention if he had a friend to keep him occupied, he had to give it to Jack that he'd thought correctly. So while the boy was busy, Roger needed something to occupy _his_ time now. He picked up working from home as an account and financial record-keeper—something he'd done while he was married and was quite good at.

Roger set to work on the papers; filling out the blanks, doing quick addition in his head, occasionally reaching for a simple calculator when necessary. He liked his work. He really did. It gave him the sensation that problems were being solved, and that he was doing the computations all on his own. When being encouraged to choose a path just before getting discharged from the asylum, he'd told his nurse specifically that he wanted to fix things and control issues that arose. So she'd set him up as an apprentice at an accounting firm. Ever since then he stuck with it, and ever since then it provided him with a fresh outlook and a satisfied desire.

Roger didn't know how long he'd been working, but after a while he heard a deep panting sound coming towards him. Doggy strode into the dining room. The small puppy stopped at his water bowl and took a big drink—something he always did after rigorous playing and long naps. But Roger furrowed his brow; the dog _never_ left Jonah's side. He sometimes wondered if it would rather starve itself or die of thirst before leaving its favorite little master. So where was Jonah? Before Roger could stand up to go check on him, he heard a tiny body clamoring up onto the chair across from his. "Jonah?" the man asked quietly. Doggy immediately hurried over to let Jonah step one foot on his back so that he could get on the chair safely. Jonah's hair was complete bedhead—he'd clearly just awoken. But he then swung his little suitcase up onto the table, and set a piece of paper before himself. He grabbed one of his crayons. Sleep still clouding his eyes a bit, the boy yawned and began coloring scribbles on the sheet. Roger waited a few moments before speaking. "Jonah, what are you doing?" he asked. The boy smiled at nothing in particular. "Write," he answered.

"That's very good but…why now? And why did you bring an empty suitcase to the table?"

"…Dada have suitcase."

"What?"

"Dada have suitcase on table."

"…Darling, this is my briefcase. It's not a suitcase. It's for work."

"Jo-Jo work."

"What do you mean?"

"Jo-Jo work like Dada."

Suddenly, it clicked to Roger. Jonah must've seen his father sitting at the table with his briefcase, constantly writing on papers and filing them away. He knew it as work. He was trying to imitate. Roger just stared at his son, grinning from ear to ear. As weird as it was, he was so proud to see that Jonah was mimicking something he was seeing—it showed that he was becoming a little more conscious of the world around him. Dr. Rodolphus would be so pleased to hear about this. Roger completely abandoned his work to watch Jonah scribble senseless lines with the blue crayon. Silence ensured for a while. Eventually, Roger decided to reward Jonah with a cookie and a glass of milk and he went to grab himself a cup of tea. He left the room quietly. Jonah just looked so focused and busy…

It took a few minutes to brew a cup of tea because Roger didn't know that Jonah had abducted the little pan and set it in line with all his stuffed animals in the playroom. Why he'd selected to bring the pan, Roger would never know. When he returned to set the snack for the two businessmen on the table, he was shocked to find that Jonah was gone. So was Doggy. "J-Jonah?" he called out, all but throwing the food down and darting towards the playroom. As he ran, he heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway. "Uncle Jack?" it asked over and over. Roger ran towards the source. Eventually Doggy met him halfway and practically led him to where Jonah was—he could tell his older master was panicked.

Jonah was on the telephone.

How he'd even reached the receiver or known how to dial when he wasn't even familiar with numbers yet, Roger would never know. But there he was, holding it to his ear and asking repeatedly for 'Uncle Jack'. Roger seized the phone away from him. "_What are you doing?_" he hissed. He put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" he asked into the device.

"Sir, is there an emergency?" the voice responded. Oh God. Jonah had dialed 9-1-1.

"N-No…no there's no emergency. I'm sorry—my son must've grabbed the phone and called….it was an accident, I promise."

"Sir, you know you could be penalized if a child is using a telephone unsupervised and calls the police, right?"

"I'm very sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Very well. Just don't let it happen again, and keep an eye on him."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. Have a good day."

After Roger hung up, he whirled around to look at Jonah. The boy had big eyes full of surprise and confusion. "What did you do?" Roger asked. The boy nodded. "No, Jonah. What did you do? Tell me with your words what you were thinking when you picked up the telephone!"

"Dada make phone calls."

"Yes, but Dada is doing his job. Little boys don't need to do that kind of job."

"Jo-Jo was work just like Dada."

"I know, but you can't just dial numbers on the phone! You need an adult with you!"

"Jo-Jo want to call Uncle Jack."

"Baby, Jack's at work too. We can't call him right now. Can you promise me you'll never use the phone without Dada's help again?"

"Jo-Jo promise."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes,"

"Good boy. No more telephone."

"Ok,"

"Oh, Jonah? While we're talking about rules and no-nos, why did you take the tea pan out of the kitchen and put it with your toys?"

"Ok,"

"Can you not do that again? It took Dada a very long time to find it."

"Ok,

"Now let's go back to work, alright? No more stealing, no more telephone."

"Yes,"

Well, it almost worked. Jonah did steal the tea pan out of the kitchen two more times after that, and he even pinched a measuring spoon. Roger would find little hidden things like this all around the house—he sat down and something poked him from under the sofa cushion; a spoon. He tucked Jonah into his cradle at night and slipped on something left on the floor; a rolling pin. He looked everywhere for the lid to the jar of olives after he'd used them to cook dinner; found it in the laundry basket. He didn't know why Jonah was into moving objects around, but he knew it needed to stop before Jonah stuck a knife under the toilet seat or something. The boy didn't mean to hide this stuff in weird places. And he certainly never meant to hurt Roger. But things just never really clicked in his brain, and he couldn't be blamed for that. So Dr. Rodolphus came up with a tally chart idea: every time Roger found a stolen object hid around the house, he put a tallymark on the big chart he'd created. And if Jonah got to ten tallies, he lost a toy for a week.

It took one set of ten tallies to make Jonah realize his father wasn't kidding.

After losing his stuffed giraffe for a week, Jonah didn't pinch any more objects. And he took very good care of that giraffe once he got it back. But he never tried to make excuses or even blame Doggy for moving the things around—which was how Roger knew it wasn't the dog, it was the boy. If he was being honest, he would've cried and begged and pleaded. But Jonah simply explained that he took the rolling pin to 'vacuum the carpet' and other nonsense like that. Sometimes Doggy would even present a missing object to Roger, just laying it at his feet and looking up at him with concern in his eyes, if that was even possible. Funny how even the dog knew stealing was wrong. But even though Jonah had his weird habits, he _always_ sat down across from Roger with his suitcase on the table whenever he saw his father working from home. It was like clockwork. Every single time. Roger never minded; it only made him happier. Jonah would always be unique, but at least he was learning and seeing how things worked.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry you had to wait so long for such a short chapter. It may be a bridge, but I think you'll like it. Let me know what you think!**

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Jack's wife Ginny bounced another little redheaded child on her hip, telling the other two that were running around to quiet down or they'd give her a headache. Jack and Roger sat across from each other at the dining room table. The taller man chuckled slightly at her rulesetting; Roger gently rocked Jonah on his lap. The boy had gotten a little spooked when playing tag with Jack's children, Henrietta and Robert—he cried and needed to be calmed down a little before going out and running around again. Little Jonah clung close to his father, relaxing at the sensation of having his body gently rocked back and forth. Even though he was eight years old, he still acted around three or four. He couldn't help it. Jack reached over and brushed a big finger over the boy's teartracked cheek to remove the extra wetness. "Feeling a little better?" he asked softly. Jonah nodded. "Dada," he said.

"Dada makes you feel better," Jack reminded. "He's always the best."

"Dada is always best!"

Roger smiled in gratitude at his best friend, placing a soft kiss to Jonah's cheek. Ginny came around the table. She gave Jack an exasperated look that hinted for him to take over discipline-duty for the twelve-year-old girl and the eight-year-old boy. "Hey, kids? Who wants to make pizza?" he asked aloud, immediately catching the attention of the little ones. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" they all shouted, including the six-year-old on Ginny's hip. Jack shrugged with a smile. He got up and led the children into the kitchen, preheating the oven for them and directing them towards the ingredients. Jonah watched the others with a sort of distanced fascination; Roger would've given anything to know what was on his mind. "Want to go cook with the kids, Jo-Jo?" he asked softly through the boy's thin strands of dark hair. After a bit of hesitation, he nodded and slipped off his father's lap.

Jack had set up a station for each child and put all the toppings he could find into separate bowls for grabbing. "Come sit by me, Jonah!" Matthew, the eight-year-old called out. "Ok," Jonah awkwardly responded, being lifted onto the little stool beside his friend. "Watch how I do it—Dad lets us make our own little pizzas all the time." Matthew demonstrated.

"Bowl,"

"Yeah, it's got cheese in it. Watch how I roll out the dough."

"Smile!"

"What?"

"Dada say cheese, Jo-Jo smile. Picture."

"Oh, you mean like 'say cheese'? Like when your dad takes a photograph of you?"

"Ok,"

"Well yeah, but this is real cheese. The kind that goes on pasta and pizza and stuff."

"Ok,"

"Want to pit some tomato sauce on yours? Here—spread it out like this."

"Jo-Jo eat this pizza now?"

"Well you can't eat it right away. We have to put all this yummy stuff on it first and then let it sit in the oven. So it's nice and hot, you know?"

"Chicken stew goes on pizza?"

"No, but we can put some pepperoni on it."

"Ok,"

Roger and Jack looked on, smiling at the sight of Michael being so helpful, kind, and patient with the little autistic boy. Jonah was actually laughing. He joyfully threw handfuls of cheese splat against the bald pizza, and Michael reached over to feed him some strings of the mozzarella. "My kid loves spending time with him." Jack murmured softly. "He talks about it until we see you guys, asks me all the time when we'll have another playdate. I guess maybe it's because he's got two sisters—he sees Jonah as a brother. I'm glad they're the same age."

"I'm glad they get along. Jonah's kinda going through another stage of anti-sociality."

"Is this new?"

"Sort of. He doesn't want to even go to the playground anymore because he says there's 'other kids'."

"Wonder if he'll grow out of it…"

"I don't know….This bond with Michael is special. It's really like they're brothers. I'm happy he has that."

Even though Jonah enjoyed making his little pizza, he didn't eat a whole lot of it once it came out of the oven. But Michael was more than happy to take care of him by cutting it up into pieces so Jonah could take tiny bites. Maybe Jack was right—maybe the pair would grow up as close as brothers. Roger was thankful for that; Jonah had no chance of having a sibling now, or really ever. He might actually have a forever friend…which was very rare for someone with social issues.


	12. Chapter 12

**Just decided to wrap in a few requests. :) if you don't like this one, I'll have the next chapter posted quickly! Thank you so much for the reviews!**

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Roger looked in his rearview mirror to see his son sitting in the back carseat, looking out the window and rocking himself slowly. Doggy sat on the next seat over, panting happily and wagging his tail. He'd become a fan of taking car rides. They were currently on their way to the local bank branch for an appointment with Roger's major supervisor—even though he worked from home, he still had to go in sometimes for reports and figure-conferences. Jack and Ginny usually babysat little Jonah; but today was an early meeting day, and no one was available to take him. Roger was unsure how this experience would go over. He'd made Jonah promise to be good, although there was no telling what would happen with his condition.

As soon as they got to the bank, Roger had to take on the responsibility of both quieting a young child while simultaneously dressing the dog in his service jacket. Roger balanced his briecase in one hand, Jonah on his left hip, the leash wrapped around his forearm, and the car keys as they made their way into the building. "Big tall," Jonah babbled, looking up towards the roof. "It's pretty tall, isn't it, Jo-Jo?" Roger returned, placing a kiss to his little cheek. Upon entering, Jonah wriggled to get down and hold his puppy's leash. "Remember, you promised to be a good boy for Dada. Are you going to keep your promise to me?" his father reminded gently. Jonah grinned and giggled for no reason. "Tretki!"

"Ok, good. Make sure Doggy stays with you all the time."

"Ok!"

"And remember to be respectful,"

"Ok!"

"I won't take too long, I'm thinking."

"Good boy, Jo-Jo! Goooood boyyyyyy!"

And Jonah continued praising himself like a dog the whole walk into the bank. But the moment he crossed the threshold of that big building, he fell silent as if under a spell. Roger held his tiny hand and walked up to the front desk, telling the woman there that he was there to see Mr. Flantley for business purposes. She left immediately to go tell the important man that his appointment had arrived. Jonah looked around in awe, never saying a word, but admiring all of the people and structures and lines and sounds…

Two female accountants passed by them. One cupped her hand over her mouth to speak covertly to her friend, nodding to the Campbells as she said, "That's the one I was telling you about. The divorced one." The other glanced behind her to get a good look. "I heard he's sleeping with his friend—that's a man. The guy's always over at his house. It only makes sense." She gossiped. "I bet his wife was cheating on him—how does he even know if the kid is his?" After they passed, Roger furrowed his brow curiously, glancing down at his son. Jonah looked up at him as he inspected the ceiling. How could anyone be stupid enough to think that Jonah did not have Roger's DNA? They looked exactly alike—dark hair, pale skin, thin frame, big gray eyes…Roger gave a half-smile to his little boy and looked away. Sleeping with Jack? Now that was just insane. If people only knew what he'd been through in the early stages of his life, and how much Jack was there to just help him…maybe they'd think differently. Being romantically in love with him wasn't valid at all—but he did love him like an older brother, even a parent; all because he took _care _of him in his times of distress.

Just about a minute later, the woman at the front desk returned and informed Roger that it was time to go in for the conference meeting. "Oh, Mr. Campbell sir? I informed him that you had your son with you. He asked if you could please have the boy wait in the sitting area over there. Just to avoid distractions." she informed. Roger inwardly sighed in exasperation; there was no choice but to leave his son unattended for the first time in a place that he not only held a job at, but that was entirely new. Jonah never reacted well to new situations. He walked the child to the small area of soft chairs, where a coffeemachine and a plate of donuts rested on a small table along with some outdated magazines and newspapers. He sat Jonah down. "Dada's going to be right back, ok? You sit here and be a good boy like we talked about and wait for Dada. Don't leave this spot. Understand? Hold Doggy's leash and don't try to get off the chair without Doggy helping you. Be a good boy." Jonah let out a happy babble in response which Roger could only hope meant he was agreeing to the terms and conditions.

As Roger went into the small office, he spared one glance backwards to see his little boy gripping his favorite stuffed rabbit tightly, looking around at everything like it was a totally new world. This was going to be a quick meeting. He'd get through it as fast as he could and explain that it was due to his inability to get a babysitter. The man would understand, right?

In all actuality, the meeting did not only take a short amount of time.

Fifteen minutes in (even after Roger had tried and tried to explain that he had to leave a little early), Jonah began to panic. It wasn't his fault—he just had no perception of elapsed time. First came the fidgets. He nervously bounced in his chair, continuing even after Doggy put his chin on his knee to calm him. Then his breathing quickened. Why wasn't his father coming back to get him? Next, the irrational fears. What if Dada had gotten hurt or kidnapped like the lady on the television talked about at night? Followed by the tears. Jonah knew he had to remain quiet—he'd promised his father, after all—but he was just so worried and anxious and _scared_ that the tears kept flowing, albeit silently, and he started to shake. And finally, the grande finale; Jonah felt so nervous and lonely that he was forced into an autistic fit complete with crying, screaming, wailing, throwing things, throwing himself down onto the floor. Several bank tellers ran over to see what the problem was. "Dada!" he shrieked, holding his little arms out as if asking for his father to appear and just hug him. "Dada! Dada! Dada make come back! Dada come Jo-Jo! _PLEASE DADA!_" He smashed the glass plate of donuts. He beat the floor with his hands and feet. He even went as far as to swat the coffeepot with his hand.

Except it was full of boiling water.

Jonah absolutely shrieked in pain. Doggy bounded over, pushing his face over to lick the wound. A tall man lifted Jonah up by the underneath of his arms. He carried the boy away from the crowd of bank patrons and secretaries, having grabbed a few ice cubes from the tray of fresh fruit. He held the ice to the injured hand, speaking gently to Jonah. "Dada's on his way," he said quickly. "I went back and got Dada. He's coming." Sure enough, Roger and Mr. Flantley hurried into the sitting area, wide-eyed and out of breath. "Daaaaadaaaaa…." Jonah wailed. He held his uninjured arm out towards his father. Roger ran to him, scooping him into a hug and holding him as close as possible. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Why did you make this mess?"

"That kid needs a good spanking!" one of the women from earlier shouted.

"And _you_ need a parenting class!" another voice yelled.

"Don't you dare talk about my friend like that! And don't you shame this little boy for something he can't control!" This was a new voice. A man's voice. Roger looked at the source, hoping it wouldn't be anyone that could get in trouble for defending him. But the person didn't work at the bank at all—he was just a patron.

It was Ralph.

The woman scoffed, pointing at the floor where several donuts were overturned, glass was splintered, and a large waterstain was invading the carpet. "Shouldn't blame him? Look at what he did! He's much too old to be throwing a temper-tantrum!" she hollered. Ralph actually stepped in front of Roger and his son in an almost defensive manner. "This boy," he began lowly. "has a mental disease. Something he was born with. Something that's so uncommon these days that they are still doing research on it, using him and other children as subjects. He has autism. It's an emerging concern for parents, and imagine having to do everything yourself—keeping a job, running a household, caring for a dog, having an autistic child; all singlehandedly. Could _you_ do it? I don't think you have any idea what this two-person family goes through every day. My second cousin has it; it's a battle to get him to put socks on in the morning. Can you imagine that? Starting every day off with a _fight_ like this? Before you go blaming the child, or the parent, picture yourself in their shoes." And with that, he helped a shaking Roger pick Jonah up into his arms. Doggy had been curiously tasting a soiled donut, but obediently went to his masters' side (though with the donut in his mouth still). Ralph picked up the donuts, laid some napkins on the waterstain, and stood in front of the glass. "Can someone get me a broom? If no one else will just accept the fact that this isn't purposeful behavior, then I'll just do it myself." he announced. A woman went to the supply closet and returned with a broom. But she didn't give it to Ralph. She began sweeping herself. Roger bent down and dabbed at the waterstain, feeling incredibly embarrassed and guilty. He prayed he wouldn't lose his job.

It took not too long to clean up the mess Jonah had made. No one made any more remarks as they returned to their workstations, not even daring to look at Roger after Ralph had protected him so outwardly. Mr. Flantley told Roger to reschedule to a time where Jonah would be at a babysitter's so they could continue their conference without interruptions; as embarrassed as Roger was, it could've been worse. He left quickly, Jonah on his hip, the dog's leash in his hand, his briefcase balanced somewhere on his arm. Jonah looked back over his father's shoulder as they left, waving his burned little hand and continuously sobbing, "Jo-Jo sorry! Jo-Jo sooooorrryyy!"

Ralph followed Roger out to the car; to say it was awkward was an understatement. "Er…er…y-you didn't have to do that." Roger began, averting his eyes. Ralph shrugged. "I don't like ignorant, headstrong people. I didn't like them judging you two. Sometimes you have to speak up for what's right." he answered just as shyly.

"You've always been that way."

"…People don't change."

Roger was silent; he hoped _he_ had changed from what he was a few years ago.

"I changed my mind," Ralph said. "People do change. People learn, and they mold themselves from those lessons. You're…you're a perfect example."

"…Y-You mean…you don't hate me still…?"

"W-Well…I never _hated_ you. I just always knew you needed a special kind of attention, and as a kid on a deserted island, I didn't know how to get that to you. I felt sorry for you. Now that you've gotten…treatment…you're better. It's…things are better."

"You haven't changed."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Most definitely."

Roger and Ralph finally met eyes, but they both looked away in an instant. "I-I'll be seeing you around." Ralph said uneasily. Roger nodded. "Yeah,"

"Hope your baby's hand feels better."

"Thanks….er…for everything today."

"It's no problem."

Roger watched him walk away after getting into his car, wondering why so many things happened that day—it had to be for a reason. The meeting, the fit, the protection, the _past_. It had to be relevant. Something more had to be in store for him. Jonah whimpered from the backseat. "Jo-Jo just scared, Dada….Jo-Jo thought Dada left forever…like Mama…." That stung harder than anything that had happened so far. Jonah was so afraid of being abandoned that he literally worried himself into a tantrum; he really couldn't help it. "Never, baby." Roger whispered, choked up and throat dry. "I'd never leave you for anything."


	13. Chapter 13

**Let me know what you think about this chapter's ending. Just something I thought I'd use to get things moving again...**

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Yes, of course it would happen.

Of course Jonah would be running a fever.

On the same day Roger had an extremely important consultation with a client.

He'd awoken that day to a crying fit; not out of the ordinary, but persistent enough to draw him out of bed and into the nursery. Little Jonah had been a mess. He'd thrown up in his crib at some point, and was all splotchy-faced as he wailed for his father's attention. So Roger had called Jack. But he'd forgotten that Jack and Ginny had gone on an anniversary trip and left their own children with a babysitter. He called Maurice. Maurice had to be at work too, but he told him he'd call him back if he could get one of the guys they knew to go over. Although Roger doubted it would happen, he agreed to it. He got dressed while simultaneously trying to calm Jonah's fit (which was a mixture of his being tired, hungry, achy, unrested, and ill) which was seemingly unending. He tried to mop the boy's forehead with a damp washcloth while buttoning up his own dress shirt when all of a sudden, the phone rang.

Leaving the screaming child and running through the living room half-dressed, Roger scrambled for the telephone. Upon picking up the receiver, he heard Maurice's ever-excited voice. "Roge! No need to worry! I found a babysitter for you, and he said he doesn't mind if the kid's sick!"

"How on earth—Maurice, thank you so much. I never though it possible, but leave it to you. Is it Bill?"

"Not Bill,"

"Henry?"

"What makes you think I would ever waste a dial on him?"

"Robert?"

"Starts with that letter…"

"Well who?"

"Ralph!"

Roger froze. Jonah's screaming in the background became distant, everything went hazy. Ralph? Ralph had agreed to help him? This was what you get when you ask Maurice to help you—his heart was in the right place, but his head never quite was. Since Roger hadn't spoken for a while, the man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. "Sounds like our kids are screaming in surround-sound." he commented. Roger blinked a few times, coming back to his senses. "Does he know where I live?" he asked.

"I filled him in. Gave him your address and stuff. Hope you don't mind."

"Er…N-No, I don't mind. Thanks for…er…d-doing that…"

"I've gotta go. Let me know how Ralph does. I've been talking to him for years—since college. He's always loved kids. I guess that's why he became a teacher! As soon as you called I knew he'd be perfect for it. Call me later?"

"Er yeah sure…call you later…."

Roger hung up the phone and glanced back at the nursery, from which high-pitched shrieks were emanating. How accurate was Maurice? Would Ralph even show up after…after everything that had happened? Roger ran back to his room to finish dressing hurriedly, wearing everything except his blazer because Jonah had begun throwing up yet again. The poor boy was so weak from whatever little bug he'd caught, he couldn't even scream anymore; he let out shaky little sobs and gasps while desperately reaching for his father to hug him. "Daaaadaaaa…" he moaned tearfully. Roger sighed. "Dada has to go to work today—if Dada could stay, he would. You're going to have a babysitter. You have to be very good for him, alright? Very good." he explained. Jonah cried some more. "Dada…n-no…go away!" the little boy stammered. Roger kissed his burning forehead, promising it wouldn't be forever.

The doorbell rang.

He decided to carry Jonah with him to lessen the crying fit (although it was still going strong) and shuffled towards the front door in his socks. His heart hammered beneath his ribcage. Sure enough, Ralph was standing right there when the door was opened. He gave a warmer smile this time. "Hello, Roger." he greeted calmly. Roger couldn't find any words… "R-Ralph…" he murmured.

"Is your baby not feeling well?"

"Er…yeah…he's a bit under the weather….Listen, are you sure you're alright with this? Maurice isn't always the best at—"

"Roger, I'm comfortable with it as long as you are. He called me and said that you needed a babysitter, Jonah was sick, and you had to be at work. It's no problem—I'm a teacher. I'm used to kids getting sick all over the floor. I understand."

"…But Jonah's not your average nine-year-old."

"And that's alright. I've got two kids of my own at home. I know how to be a father, a nurse, a teacher, and a leader."

"…You sure do,"

Ralph stepped inside and handed Roger his jacket. "And when you come back, everything will be fine." he assured. Roger gave a weak smile. The thin dark-haired man placed a kiss on Jonah's red cheek, turned to the front door, and left his child in the care of someone he never thought he'd ever have to see again.

Ralph gently bounced Jonah on his hip for a little bit, talking to him over the screaming and crying. "I know…you don't feel good….maybe I can help you….want to go lie down on your soft bed?" he cooed. Jonah sobbed weakly, reaching his hands towards the doorway of his room. He was carried inside, laid on his bed, and got his face dabbed at with some gentle washcloth pats. "Does that feel better?" Ralph softly asked. Jonah let out a feverish shiver, but was instantly covered by his quilt. He opened his sore, teary eyes. "Miss…D-Dada…" he whimpered honestly. Ralph smiled. "It's alright to miss him. But he won't ever leave you, I promise."

"H-How you know?"

"Because I knew him when he was very little."

"Dada was good boy?"

"…Dada was loyal. Dada was very loyal to Uncle Jack."

"Y-You are very nice man…"

"…Thank you."

Ralph worked hard all day to make Jonah feel a little better. He didn't quite like the idea of a dog sleeping on the same bed as a small child, but he knew it was important for the service animal to be near its master. He had to resort to giving the boy some painkillers, found some extra soft blankets to keep him warm, and introduced the concept of soda to settle his upset tummy. It was nearly time for Jonah's nap (and Ralph was working to step out of the room quietly, although the boy would have none of that) when he asked aloud, "Mister sir? You will tell Jo-Jo and Simon a story?"

"…Wait, did you just say….who were you talking about?"

"Jo-Jo and Simon."

"You're Jo-Jo…"

"Ok,"

"But…who's Simon…?"

Jonah pointed over in the direction of the rocking chair, where nothing but air surrounded the empty wooden seat. Ralph felt a chill sweep through him. "Who's Simon…?" he whispered. Jonah just kept looking at the rocking chair thoughtfully. "Friend," he decided.

"…Do you see him right now?"

"Yes,"

"W-What's he doing?"

"Sitting and look at Mister sir. Cheese."

"Cheese? Wait, why is he looking at me?"

"Cheese."

Ralph glanced back at the chair. "Oh…cheese…you mean smile. Simon's smiling?"

"At Mister sir."

"…D-Does…Simon talk to you…?"

"Sometimes."

"…And…your father…does he know?"

"Know?"

"Does he know you talk to Simon? That you see him?"

"Jo-Jo no tell people. Jo-Jo no even tell Miss Mary at Group. But Mister sir is nice. Mister sir give Jo-Jo sosa. Simon tell he know Mister Sir."

Again, another chill swept through Ralph. Why? Was it even possible that Jonah could be seeing an angel or something of the sort? Why was Simon talking about _him?_ Ralph glanced at the chair yet again. Maybe the fever was making Jonah hallucinate. But how would he know that _name?_ "Jonah…I don't think you're seeing things right. I think maybe the fever is giving you dreams in the day. Why don't we lay down and take a nap?" Ralph encouraged, suddenly highly uncomfortable with the situation. The little boy shook his head. "He stay all the time." he said. "He sit in chair and tell Jo-Jo things and nice stories and tell Jo-Jo he is good boy." That was definitely Simon. Going out and offering every bit of comfort he could to someone that needed it desperately. There was no doubt now. Ralph let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Let's just take a nap now, alright?" he said. Jonah looked a little sleepy from all the medication he was taking, so he laid down without a fight. Ralph rubbed the boy's tummy as he closed his eyes, every so often looking over at the rocking chair. "Ok…night Simon." Jonah mumbled before falling completely asleep. Ralph shivered.

After the nap, he knew the child was doing better when he asked for more 'sosa'. Every time Jonah took a sip, he'd scrunch his face up and burst into giggles. "Pop pop pop!" he squealed at the feeling in his mouth. He stopped throwing up around four in the afternoon. Yet he still demanded more soda cup after cup until his father came home an hour later. He grinned at the sight of Ralph sitting beside the cradle-like bed, acting like Jonah was actually his own, just enjoying the company of such a little boy. Ralph gave Jonah one more sip of soda before standing up and leading Roger out of the room. "Need to talk about something." he murmured. So Roger followed. Immediately after they were gone, Jonah babbled away by himself as usual. "Does he always do that?" Ralph whispered in the hallway. Roger glanced back. "Talk to himself? Yeah, all the time." he answered.

"Do you ever hear him say names?"

"I don't really listen to him, because sometimes he doesn't speak English when he's by himself. Just his own little language."

"…He's not talking to himself."

"I always assumed that it was just him talking to Doggy or something."

"He knows."

"What?"

"He knows about Simon."


	14. Chapter 14

**You are all going to hate me for this. But I really plan to have the next chapter up soon so that you don't have to wait. Let me know what you're thinking as you read, and thanks for your reviews and follows!**

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Apparently it was true—those who believed in supernatural activity had done studies and found that younger children (and sometimes ones with disabilities) could see spirits that decided to appear to them, as confirmed by a visit with Doctor Rodolphus. Little Jonah could see Simon's spirit if it was making itself known to him. So Roger would listen in through the nursery door or whenever he thought Jonah was just babbling to himself.

He wasn't.

He was actually holding conversations with "Simon". He answered, asked questions, laughed, sang. This wasn't an imaginary friend like Roger had assumed it was—no, this was clearly influential on the little boy. And it went on for three years, almost constantly. Simon never got in the way of Jonah's life; when it was time to focus or do lessons or talk to someone else, he would without a fuss. In fact, Group and more…well…direct contact made his speech a little better over time. And noticeably too. He now used pronouns to refer to himself: I, me, my, etc. Roger was proud of his son. Even though the tantrums still existed, he was getting much better in his recovery.

The little teenager clung to his father's hand as they made their way around the city. It was incredibly busy—the Christmas holidays pushed everyone outside to do their shopping before the big day. Roger looked down, reaching over to pull the boy's small hat down over his ears. "Cold, baby?" he asked. Jonah shook his head. "I am warm." he replied. Roger guided him and Doggy into a small coffee shop, as he knew the next person on his "to-buy-for" list was Ralph and he needed all the coffee he could get as a teacher. "Mmmmm!" Jonah hummed upon entering. He was right—the warm store and the delicious smells wafting through the air definitely made everything more enjoyable. Roger grinned down at him. "Can you go sit on those chairs for me? Can you wait for Dada over there?" he asked after realizing the line was very long and his son would probably get tired of standing (which could accidentally cause a tantrum). Jonah nodded. "Ok." He picked up Doggy's leash and led him over to the circular couch area where several people were sipping cups of steaming beverages. He sat down amongst them. Doggy perched on the floor, but kept his head on Jonah's knee as always to remind him that being calm was just a pet or two away. Roger grabbed a few bags of coffee beans and waited in line to pay for the gifts. Occasionally he'd glance back at his little boy, and saw him sitting quietly, stroking Doggy's head, looking around the crowded shop.

A lady sitting across from her fiancé (presumably) looked down at the animal spread over Jonah's feet. She rolled her eyes discretely. "I think he is cold too," Jonah said aloud, which indicated that maybe he was talking to Simon, maybe he wasn't. There were times where he just sort of talked aloud anyway. He removed the green scarf from his neck, wrapping it gently around Doggy's instead. "I will make warm. Doggy is warm now." he said to his pet, placing a kiss between his eyes. The dog loyally let himself be dressed up, well-practiced in this field. Jonah was fascinated with making Doggy try on his shirts and pants and such at home. He thought it was the funniest thing. The woman cleared her throat. "I don't think pets should be allowed in public places where there is food being served." she announced. Her fiancé pretended he didn't hear. Although a few people did look up. Jonah certainly didn't care—he never even realized she was talking, nonetheless about him. He swung his feet and hummed quietly to himself. Doggy let out a yawn. Apparently, this further disgusted the loud woman.

The elderly woman in front of Roger dropped her whole coinpurse, sending all of her money scattering across the floor. Roger took one last glance back at his good little boy before bending down to help her pick them up.

The woman sitting near Jonah leaned over to him and his dog. "Little boy," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Puppies aren't allowed in restaurants." But the boy didn't look up at her. He just kept stroking his pet. "Doggy is help dog. Doggy help me. Dada say it's ok." he replied. It made sense to him. But apparently not to her. "I just talked to your father," she lied. "And...he asked me to tell you to go wait outside for him with the dog. He wants you to go sit on the steps outside and hold its leash and he'll be out in a few minutes."

"Dada say me not to talk to strange people…"

"No, I'm not a stranger. Because I talked to your father. I'm just giving you a message from him."

"…Ok…"

"So go sit out on the steps with the filthy—I mean, with your dog and he'll be out to get you soon. Run along now."

Jonah stood up, taking Doggy's leash in his hand. But Doggy wouldn't stand up. He looked at Jonah almost sternly, not complying with the leash tugging that came along with the boy's task. "Come on, Doggy." the tiny thirteen-year-old encouraged. "Dada say," Reluctantly, the golden animal stood up, walking warily out of the coffee shop with his owner. Once outside in the blustery snow, Jonah looked around. There weren't any steps in front of the coffee shop. Didn't the nice lady say that Dada wanted him to wait on the steps? He glanced farther down the street. Doggy bit his leash, giving it a tug in an attempt to tell Jonah to stay. But the little boy pulled harder. The pair began walking down the crowded street alone.

A middle-aged woman looked up from her scone. "You shouldn't have done that." she said to the ignorant woman that had sent Jonah away. The other shrugged. "It's not like he can go far. How long will his father be? He's just going to sit outside the door and he can explain that people don't like to smell a wet animal while they're enjoying the food they paid money for." she snapped.

"That little boy wasn't all there. He said it was a 'help dog'—a service dog. Why would a young child have a service dog if something wasn't wrong with them?"

"…He could hold a conversation…"

"He never looked at you. He couldn't speak right. You just sent a kid that can't take care of himself or collect his thoughts out into the cold without an adult."

The woman was clearly a little panicked. She grabbed her fiancé's hand. "We're leaving." she said shortly, practically pulling him out of his chair and towards the door. She wanted to get out before any trouble arose.

Roger put his hands up, smiling and once again repeating himself to the old woman. "No, no, you don't have to give me anything for helping you pick it up. It's no problem. I don't need any money, please." She profusely thanked him with her thick Italian accent until he was finished paying and went to the couches to pick up his son.

Where was Jonah?

Roger looked around, clearly starting to get a little nervous. The line hadn't been that long—he wouldn't have had time to run away. "H-Have any of you seen my son?" he stammered to the sitters. The middle-aged woman had been joined by her husband, who had also witnessed the incident from the line at the bakery counter. "A woman sent him outside." he stated. The wife agreed with a nod of her head. "She told him that you gave her a message. She said you wanted him to go wait outside and you'd go get him once you were done."

"…W-What…why?"

"She didn't like that a dog was inside the restaurant and she didn't understand when your son told her it was a 'help dog'." the woman answered this time. Roger whirled around, muttering a thank-you to the couple as he dashed out the door.

Jonah wasn't waiting right there.

Roger fearfully turned and looked up and down both sides of the street, his big gray eyes filled with panic. Which direction? Where could Jonah go? Where would Jonah _think_ he was going? Roger suddenly bolted left, running and pushing through the crowded sidewalks, occasionally calling his son's name. Tears flooded his eyes and stung his cheeks as they slipped down and froze in the frigid air. The wind seemed to pick up. "Jonah?!" he shouted, peering into every store window, every passing lane, and he even resorted to looking into the windows of driving cars. Oh, where was his son? Someone could've already kidnapped him and could be murdering him with slow torture right this second! Roger scrubbed at his numb face with the back of his gloved hand. A short bald man walking the opposite way on the same slab of concrete put a hand on his shoulder. "Not going to want to go that way, mate." he explained. "Car wreck. They've closed off all the streets; no one's getting by." Roger looked ahead. Alright, so Jonah couldn't have made it this far. If the sidewalks were closed, he wouldn't have been able to get past all the police—the _police!_ Maybe they found the wandering child and had him waiting there! Roger ran through the turning crowd, holding onto the hope that Jonah would be waiting for him there, beside a safe officer all dressed in the blue coats.

A string of officers were surrounding the area of the accident, some directing traffic, others telling people the sidewalks were closed. "Can't go on this way, sir." one said immediately as Roger approached him. "Please…I've lost my little boy. Has he come by here? He's little, got dark brown hair, gray eyes, and a service dog walking next to him?" he breathlessly asked. The officer stiffened. "Are you his father?" he asked. Roger nodded eagerly—thank god, they actually had Jonah! The officer turned back to his fellow guards. "I've got the father!" he shouted. "Where's the mother?" the distant man responded. "You got a wife?" the nearer asked Roger.

"We're divorced. She doesn't speak to him."

"…Come inside this tape here. We have to talk about something."

"No, it's all a big misunderstanding. I was waiting in line and I told him to sit at the sofas, and then this lady told him to go outside with the dog. He's got autism, he doesn't understand. So he left before I knew it and I guess he ran all the way down here and—"

And ambulance wailed in the distance, drawing nearer. The officer looked sadly at Roger. "Your son was in an accident." He said gravely. The young father stared, his heart pumping like it never had before. "W-What…?!" he gasped. The officer took his by the arm and led him around the large firetruck that was blocking the view of the car and the victim. Several paramedics were gathered around a body on the ground, other officers were detailing the event on notepads. Roger couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The officer rested a hand on his shoulder. "He wandered into the crosswalk and the woman at the wheel didn't see him. She slammed on the brakes…but she still hit him going at least thirty miles per hour. She hit the dog too. Both are being treated now—"

But Roger broke away and went running towards his little boy, screaming and crying the moment he saw the accident. The front of the car had a crack in the headlight. Jonah was lying on his back, covered in blood. Doggy rested on his side. He was laying right beside the boy loyally, as always. "Jonah!" Roger cried out, kneeling in the oceans of blood around him. He stroked the child's cheek. "No…" he whimpered. The paramedics took Doggy away first—Roger heard them saying something about taking him to an emergency veterinarian. Roger's tears ran hot and burning down his frozen cheeks, his heart aching with every beat. This was all his fault… A single paramedic leaned down and touched the boy's broken chest where the others had set up a plastic respirator connecting to his face.

The paramedic had almost black hair like Roger's. It was thick and a little on the longer side. He had sparkling green eyes. "It's going to be alright, Roger." he said. The desperate father snapped his head up—how did he know his name? He paled when he read the man's nametag. _Simon_. "No…" he whispered. "No…no…you….I…no…" The paramedic placed his hand over Roger's. "He's alright. And he'll be fine for Christmas." What was happening? What was going on? Roger felt his whole heart give a wrench that caused his entire body to ache. "P-Please stay with him…" he whispered breathlessly. The paramedic smiled gently. "_Always,_" he murmured. The team came over and gingerly lifted the tiny body onto a stretcher. They wheeled him into the back of the ambulance, telling Roger to follow in his own car when he was done talking to the officers at the scene. It hurt him when they shut those big metal doors on his son. It killed him when they sped off, sirens blaring, taking his little boy away from him. This was never supposed to happen. Never.

For the first time in the twenty years he'd been out of the Catholic school for boys, Roger dropped to his knees and prayed right there in the middle of the street.


	15. Chapter 15

**A short one, hopefully to tie up that last chapter. More will be coming. I'll let you know when we're nearing the end. Thank you for your reviews!**

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Roger sat by the little bed in the intensive care unit as he did every day, holding his baby's hand in silence. It had been two weeks since Jonah had been conscious. Two weeks. Roger's boss gave him time-off because of the situation, so he was able to go every single day to the hospital for visiting hours, then go home to his dead home to wait for the next morning to go again. It was a cycle—a horrible, horrible cycle. But today wasn't so terrible, because Jonah opened his eyes.

Or maybe it was even worse.

Because Jonah was in excruciating pain. Roger had this lovely image of his son's awakening playing out in his head from the moment the accident happened—he'd open his eyes, look up at his father, and say "Dada" and let himself be hugged. This was nowhere near that. In fact, the moment his eyes opened, he let out a piercing shriek. His grip on Roger's hand tightened in pain as several nurses rushed into the tiny room. One attempted to calm him down. The other adjusted the release of morphine dripping into his veins so that his pain would be numbed faster. There was so much crying and screaming that Roger doubted his son even knew he was there. One of the nurses unwrapped the bloodied arm bandage to replace it; despite everything he'd seen in his life, Roger had to actually avert his eyes. Seeing a wound that deep on his own son was almost physically painful for him. So many minutes went by, and although he was initially irritated with the nurses not being able to relieve his screaming child, he ended up feeling a twinge of gratitude towards them when Jonah was reduced to only fearful crying.

"Daa…Daaaaaaa…." he wailed out. The nurses backed away.

Roger leaned in closer to the tiny boy in the bed. "Dada's right here…" he whispered. "Dada loves you. Dada loves you, Jonah." The boy halted his crying to just sniffles now, his red face streaked with tears. He turned his head to look into his father's eyes. "I-I…" he stammered out.

"No, no, baby. You don't have to talk. Shhh…just rest for me."

"I-I…I…I s-so…s-s-sorry…"

"…Why are you sorry, Jo-Jo? You don't need to be."

"…I-I…I-I…runned…away…from Dada…"

"…No, no…you didn't. You were lied to. You were tricked by a bad lady."

"…L-Lady?"

"Remember she told you that you Dada wanted you to wait outside? She lied. She's very bad. Dada never said that, and Dada didn't know her."

"…She…l-lie…"

"It's very bad,"

"…I n-never will lie t-to Dada…"

Roger squeezed his hand ever so slightly. "I know, Jonah." he whispered. Some silence passed. Jonah was clearly trying to get used to being rather immobile and sitting in a bed for so long, but he didn't complain. "Why don't you try for some sleep?" Roger asked him when he noticed his son's eyelids beginning to droop. "I-I trying…but no can sleep without D-Doggy. Where Doggy is?" he replied. Roger felt his breath catch.

"Er…Jonah…Doggy's in a special hospital just like you are. But he's in a hospital for animals. He can't come out yet."

"He wear bracelet like me?" Jonah asked, holding up the arm with the little bracelet dangling off the wrist, displaying his patient information.

"He probably wears a bracelet just like you, Jonah. I'll bet he's got his on and is thinking about you right now."

"Why he no c-can come sleep with me?"

"W-Well…Doggy has some broken bones."

"Like me!"

"Yes…except all four of his legs were broken…and some ribs…so he can't walk for a while until all of his casts come off."

"I-I can't sleep without Doggy…"

Suddenly a lightbulb went off in Roger's mind. He'd almost forgotten—he'd picked out a special surprise for his baby when he woke up! "Hold on a second," he murmured, digging into the bag he carried. "Maybe you can't sleep with Doggy, he said. "But Doggy asked me to give you a special present."

"H-He did?"

"Yes he did. Want to see it?"

"I can see it? Please, I can see it?"

"Alright…here it is…"

Roger pulled a stuffed animal out of the bag, shaped just like a golden retriever. It wore a bandana that said "get well soon", and its fur was plush and soft. Jonah gasped. "Dada…" he murmured. He held it so lovingly, so gently…as if it really were Doggy. "Do you like it?" Roger asked. He was answered by an awed nod. "Maybe you can sleep now." he said. Within just a few minutes, Jonah settled back against his pillows, cradling the new stuffed toy ever so lovingly. "Goodnight Jo-Jo," Roge whispered, stroking his hair gently. The medication he was on was making him sleepy, that was clear. His little eyes were shutting almost inadvertently. Roger grinned. "Goodnight, Dada. Goodnight, Doggy-present." the little one managed to yawn out. Roger held his hand as he fell asleep. Just before he drifted off, Jonah stirred a bit, seemingly had forgotten to say something.

"Goodnight, Simon."

Roger looked around the empty room. No. It was just him and his son there; no one else. He thought. After the chill that passed through him, he smiled. _At least if Simon's here,_ he thought to himself, _he followed my wish to stay with him._


	16. Chapter 16

**Ok, after this chapter we're going to skip ahead a few years. I thought that adding this one in would be good for the people who want to know how Doggy and Jonah are both doing. So I really hope everyone likes it! let me know your feelings so I can make the next chapter what you want to see.**

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After much deliberation (and honestly begging and pleading), the veterinarian let Doggy out of the animal hospital to go be with Jonah in the trauma center. The dog couldn't walk; he had to be carried everywhere. So into the hospital Roger went, a big yellow Labrador all wrapped up like a mummy in his arms. Jack decided to pay his little friend a visit as well to help Roger carry in the dog and scowl at anyone who raised a questioning eyebrow. When they got to the trauma room, Jonah was asleep in the bed he'd been in for what seemed like an eternity. There were only a few days until Christmas. Looked like he'd be spending it there.

Roger put a finger to his lips and crept into the room quietly. As soon as Doggy saw his little master, his tail wagged like crazy. Jack grinned as they laid the wrapped dog right beside Jonah in the bed. The boy stirred at this new presence beside him, mumbling something and then finally saying "Not awake yet, Simon." His little eyes fluttered open—to presumably look at his little spirit friend—but he was instantly surprised. He sat straight up, staring at the dog in disbelief. "Doggy?" he whispered. He didn't even seem to notice the two men in the room with him. The animal let out a happy little whine, craning his neck up to lick his master's face. "Doggy, it is you!" he cried out, throwing his battered and bandaged arms around it. "Doggy, I have misses you so much. Dada bring me the toy from you, I love it so much. You promise me you not ever leave me again? Promise? Good, because I not going to leave you either because I loves you." Hearing his son talk like that to the only friend he ever really had made Roger feel a different kind of happiness inside. It was more of a relief—Jonah was becoming more and more open about his feelings.

Jack stepped forward, taking the boy's little hand. "Hey, Jo-Jo." he murmured. Jonah beamed up at him. "Look, Uncle Jack! Doggy come back to me!"

"I see! Did you notice how you and Doggy have the same bandages?"

"Yes, and Dada say it make brave."

"You're both very, very brave indeed. Hey, since it's almost Christmas, I brought you an early present. Would you like to open it?

"Michael helps chose it?"

"Er…sure he did." Jack shot Roger a 'Michael-has-no-clue-what-state-Jonah-is-in' look.

"I can opens now?"

"Of course you can,"

Jack took a little box out of his pocket, all wrapped in green wrapping paper (he knew Roger hated the color red) with a big silver bow on top. Jonah squealed with delight at first glance at the gift. "Manners, baby." Roger quietly reminded. "Thanks you Uncle Jack!" the boy called out, pulling the silver bow off and sticking it on Doggy's head to get it out of the way. The loyal dog didn't even shift. Jonah yanked the wrapping paper off and tossed it aside revealing a small jewelry box. With a little help from Jack, he opened it up.

Inside was a silver bracelet that had a rectangular plate on it. Engraved in the metal was his name, date of birth, and one word: autism.

Jack held the shiny object up, Jonah's eyes constantly drawn to it. "It's an identifier," he explained to both men in his company. "It has your information on the front, Jo-Jo. See your name and birthday? See how it says 'autism'? That's to let people know that they need to help you when you get lost or scared. Roge, your information is on the back." He turned the bracelet plate over. In small letters, it read "in case of emergency, please contact Roger Campbell immediately". Jack reached over and fastened it around Jonah's thin wrist. "Now nothing like this will happen ever again," he just barely whispered. He stepped back and let the little boy admire his new gift, his new prevention-plan. Thrilled with how shiny and pretty it was, Jonah clapped gleefully and began to show Doggy what he was given. Jack wrapped an arm around Roger's shoulders. "It'll work." he said. "If people read it, they'll know to…to just help him." Roger smiled. He was so grateful to his friend for the means to assist his son with public outings, and he was relieved that Jonah (and though he wouldn't admit it, Doggy too) was going to be alright. "Thanks," Roger whispered tears choking his voice. Jack just smiled gently.

"Hey, Simon want to be hug too!" Jonah called from the bed. The two adults exchanged unsure and strange looks. Was that even possible? They let go of each other, then after a moment rejoined in an embrace. Jonah giggled and clapped his hands. "Do you really believe he's here?" Jack whispered into Roger's ear. The other man smiled faintly. "I didn't before, but he promised to never leave Jonah, and he's kept that vow to me."

So Jack hugged a little tighter.


	17. Chapter 17

**Get ready for the feels! Love to hear what you're thinking.**

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Roger shifted in his bed. The early morning sunlight was just beginning to creep through the sky, but the curtains in the bedroom kept it out. He felt the child next to him stir a little too. Roger wasn't old yet, but he was realizing that he wanted to sleep longer and longer every day; waking up was just becoming something he had to do, rather than look forward to. Or maybe it was just the day—maybe he was just dreading what was coming that morning, or for the past few days, honestly. He had been excited first, but then started to absolutely hate how the calendar flipped so quickly. This morning was going to be the hardest day in the world for him.

Jonah was going to a new specially formed school for children with social disorders every day.

Without Roger.

The child in bed with him turned over too, little arms wrapping around him and pulling himself closer. "Dada…" he murmured. His voice had deepened quite a bit over the years, but Roger still heard that tiny little-boy voice that used to babble words that weren't even in English so proudly. Tears jumped to his father's eyes for the millionth time that week. "Yes, baby?" he whispered. Jonah still hadn't opened his eyes. He reached down with his toes to feel if Doggy was still at the foot of the bed, and upon realizing that he was, he slipped his hand into Roger's. "Scared."

"Scared? Why are you scared, love?"

"I go away in the morning."

"Yes, but…I'm going to pick you up. You're not going away forever. It's just like Group."

"But no Dada."

"Well, no…"

"What if I misses Dada?"

"You still have that picture, right? The one of me and Mama?"

"I always keeps in my pocket."

"Well just…just…keep that in mind if you miss me."

Jonah nodded, snuggling in closer to his father's chest. Roger sighed into his hair. "I'm going to miss _you_, Jo-Jo." he whispered. For a long time, both laid still in the depressing realization that they were going to be separated for the first time ever. Though his eyes were screaming to let the tears fall, he didn't allow for that. He squeezed them shut. Roger attempted to compose himself for several minutes, and he began to fear that Jonah had fallen back asleep. He didn't want to do the whole "wake the child up for school" thing every parent did—he hadn't ever done it before, and starting on this day would be just heartbreaking. "Do you want to go get dressed?" he asked softly. To his relief, Jonah nodded. Both men sat up, opening their eyes again to face the day.

After dressing, Roger and Jonah took Doggy out for a walk. They did this every morning; today's was a little slower and harder to grasp. Roger usually awoke earlier than his son, and the dog would come trotting out of the bedroom when he needed to go and would tap his paw on Roger's knee as he drank his coffee. But when Jonah would wake up, they'd take the dog out again together. Even Doggy was walking a little slower today. "Are you a little excited for school today, Jonah?" Roger asked, pulling his sweater closer around himself. The boy shrugged.

"I will miss my home. I don't get to play with my toys when I wants to."

"Yeah, but you can play with them after. When Dada picks you up and brings you home you can."

"Snacktime?"

"What? Yes, they have snacktime there. I made you a special lunch already. In its own bag like the big kids going to school. Don't open it until snacktime, ok? It's a surprise."

"Ok Dada,"

"Now how about we go back home so we can get in the car? We'll stop by your favorite donut place for breakfast before school."

"Dada, it is so early in the morning."

"Yeah, because school starts early."

"I don't know if I likes it…"

"You'll get used to it. Come on. Let's go home and get Doggy a nice drink."

As they made their way back down the sidewalk, Roger felt a small hand slip into his. He fought the tears again. Jonah had always learned that when you're not in the house, you have to be holding Dada's hand. What was he going to do by himself? As promised, they headed straight for the bakery and purchased a bagel, a bowl of water, and the favored vanilla donut with chocolate frosting and pink sprinkles. They sat on a bench on the sidewalk. Roger didn't know why he'd ordered a bagel—he didn't feel like eating anything anyway. Jonah was able to eat most of his donut, but left a piece and claimed his stomach "had the sads". They sat together on the bench even after the breakfast was completed, just waiting for the hour that would tell them it was time to grow up. Roger looked at his watch. "We should get going, baby." he murmured. Jonah frowned a bit, but followed his father to the car again.

It was a large school—one for the normal kids to attend and learn their lessons; except there was one new wing dedicated to the special people like Jonah. That part was decorated with pictures for all ages; dancing elephants, the alphabet, numbers, colors, teddy bears. Jonah shrunk closer to his father as they walked down the hall, clutching his hand desperately. Until room 302B. His room. A kind woman stood in the doorway, greeting all the parents and students that were showing up. "Hello!" she cheerfully greeted. "My name is Mrs. Redding. I'm going to be one of your teachers! What's your name?" Jonah stared at her, but slipped behind his father in nervousness. "Sorry," Roger said, trying to sound like a brave parent that had sent many children off to school already. "This is Jonah Campbell. And I'm his father, Roger." She smiled gently. He could tell she was going to be a very patient woman. "Well it's very nice to meet you both. And I see you have a special friend with you? Can you tell me what your friend's name is?" she said, looking down at the yellow lab. But Jonah didn't know she was talking about the dog, apparently. "Simon," he answered. Another breathtaking chill swept through Roger, making his heart feel ice cold. "What a lovely name for a puppy!" she cooed. "Well don't worry, because we have several other students that have special friends coming to class with them too. We're all going to be good friends, Jonah. How about you come inside and we'll have Mrs. Waterbury show you your desk and all of your supplies?" Jonah further shrunk away.

Roger turned and knelt in front of him. Tears were beginning to brim in his son's stormy eyes. "Dada…" he whimpered. Roger swallowed a lump in his throat. "You have to be a big boy, Jo-Jo. Go in there and show them how smart you are. You, and Doggy, and…and Simon. I know you can do it." he encouraged. Tears leaked down Jonah's cheeks. "D-Don't go, Dada…" he whispered. Roger broke. He let his own sadness show through tears and sniffles, desperately holding his little boy one more time. "Be strong," he whispered into his son's hair. Of all the people who'd left him in his life…now he had to leave someone. It was incredibly hard. "I'm going to go now," he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Jonah let out a little cry of panic. "You be a good boy. I-I'll see you later, alright?" Roger kissed him one more time. "I love you," He turned to walk back down the hall, leave Jonah with his new friends, his teachers.

But then he heard the crying.

Jonah was sobbing, bawling his eyes out. Running towards Roger. "_Daaaadaaaaa!_" he wailed. Mrs. Redding put a hand over her worried mouth. She ducked inside. Roger shook his head as he carried Jonah back to the door. "You have to do this. It's going to be good for you. Go in and say hi to the other kids, eat your cookies, and sit with Doggy. Alright? It's going to be ok, Jonah. It will be." But the boy kept crying and crying, begging his father not to leave him. Mrs. Redding reappeared near Jonah with something hidden behind her back. She tapped his shoulder. Tearful eyes turned up to her, nervously but attentively. She pulled a soft stuffed stegosaurus from behind her. "Hey, Jonah. Do you like dinosaurs?" she asked. Roger knew that Jonah had no clue what a dinosaur even was; but something about that stuffed animal intrigued him. She slipped it into his arms. "N-N…Nidosaur?" he murmured. She nodded very excitedly. "Oh yes! They're very cool creatures that lived a long time ago. We have lots and lots of dinosaur toys inside. And books too. We're going to learn about the dinosaurs this year, so do you want to come in and see everything we've got about them?" Jonah looked at her, then at the toy in his arms. He nodded. "N-Nidosaurs." he confirmed. She patted his head. "Good boy, Jonah! Good boy! You're such a good listener!" Mrs. Redding continued. She led the little boy inside the room. He only paused to give Roger one more wave.

The moment he got home, Roger called Jack. "Jack? I sent him." he breathlessly explained.

"Good! How'd he take it?" the redhead asked.

"Horrible. Cried, screamed, chased me….I think I maybe put him in too soon. Maybe I should've waited a year."

"Roge, he's sixteen. He had to go this year. He'll be fine once he gets used to it. All kids do."

"What if I go pick him up early today? Just gradually ease him into it."

"Then his routine would be all thrown off. Roge, you've just got to let him go the whole day, then pick him up, then bring him home. And start again tomorrow. That's all you can do."

"But what if—"

"It's going to be fine. He'll be fine. The one I'm worried about is you."

"…Me? No, not me. Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Don't worry."

"See? You're all jitters."

"…I-I just…he's my everything…"

"You're doing a great job. Just let him go. I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"Yep. You didn't get scared. You brought him back to the room even when he was chasing after you. …You were strong."

Roger felt the tears come again. But they were good tears—he just wished he could share in the pride and good feelings; for now he was too worried. But the day went fast after he started doing some work, and when he went to pick Jonah up, the boy was ecstatic with everything he'd done that day. He had filled his backpack with pictures and writings and all sorts of papers that he was eager to show Roger. And then, he admitted he couldn't wait to go back again. As horrible as Roger felt that morning, he felt a new sort of pride for his son—he'd taken yet another step towards being a normal child.


End file.
